The Siren's Name
by Hiron Otsuki
Summary: King Marcell wanted a wife. Across the sea, a horticulturally minded Siren wants more out of life than just tricking men. A rescue on the high seas leads to longing for one another, but will the Siren's true nature keep them apart?  Retold Little Mermaid
1. Chapter One

A/N: You may have already guessed, but this is the sequel to _The Witch's Name _over on Fictionpress. This probably isn't going to pull heavily from it, but if you want to read about how Marcell's arm got injured and you want to find out who Jill and Digory are, it's a good place to start. Also, FYI, Marcell's a woman. Digory's a woman. I'm doing some gender-play on the word 'king'-since the word 'queen' usually seems to evoke images of Queen Elizabeth-going on the idea that a king is a ruler of a country, and you usually historically didn't see queens ruling alone under their own power without having had a consort first. It also plays vaguely on the idea of a drag king, but not the culture surrounding drag. People will generally refer to Marcell as 'Sir' because she prefers it. I've never held much with gendered honorific titles. The Japanese honorific 'san' is my current favorite word because it's generally non-gendered.

And yes, this is a lesbian story.

* * *

If thou be'st born to strange sights,  
Things invisible to see,  
Ride ten thousand days and nights,  
Till age snow white hairs on thee,  
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,  
All strange wonders that befell thee,  
And swear,  
No where  
Lives a woman true and fair.

* * *

At the end of the room, all she could see was blue. The sea outside the window was awash with sunlight, showing off all the spectacular arrays of blue that Marcell knew from experience that it held.

They called it the Star Ocean, but in the day Marcell sometimes thought it should be called the Sapphire Ocean. If there were stars falling during the day, they weren't visible. The Star Ocean was a place which Marcell sometimes-very rarely, mind you-imagined that she must have been insane to give up. Somewhere out on that ocean was the _Witch's Name_, on which the former King and her lover were happily residing after passing on the throne to Marcell.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and Marcell sighed. Time to go back down. "Enter," she called, and the door opened.

"Majesty, the Princess of Atlion and her retinue are here." Her main advisor stood just inside the doorway. Willian Baves was a tall, wide man, strong of arm and stronger of mind, which was how he had managed to remain one of the former King's main supporters while most of the Council had been trying to eliminate Digory so he could rule and they could stop dropping into sinkholes. Marcell often wondered why he hadn't fought her for the monarchship; why he had just stood aside quietly when Digory had marched in at the head of a column of Thenalium's best naval officers with the long-lost sword of Thenalium and the Witch at her side, and promptly installed Marcell on the throne. Later, Digory had introduced them and the four of them had had a long discussion about whether Willian still wanted to be King, at which point he had surprised all three of them by avowing an oath he had sworn to Digory's mother: one, that he would never take the throne over Digory's body, two, that he would support her claim for the throne no matter what and three, that no one could know about the oath. Digory had been shocked, to say the least, and then Willian had deepened the shock by casually mentioning that he really had never had any desire to the throne; that he'd rather spend his time counseling the ruler and taking his father's place as advisor.

So now here they were, and Marcell stared at Willian, mind working furiously. "Here-now?" she sputtered. A Princess. The Princess. The Princess of Atlion, a country that shared borders with neither Thenalium nor any of its neighboring kingdoms. Hopefully that meant that its rulers-and hopefully by extension its rulers' daughter-would be open to a marriage alliance between their kingdoms. It hadn't been that she wasn't expecting the Princess's arrival, it had been that the whole notion of entertaining a visiting princess hadn't quite been real-at least until now.

Willian nodded. "They are unpacking now, and her chief lady-in-waiting has informed me that the Princess remains willing to have dinner with you and the nobles tonight."

"Good, good." Marcell nodded. Tonight's dinner would hopefully let her get a good feel for Princess Aliaga. She had already received a small portrait of the Princess, which showed the woman to be tall, slender, with long brown hair that reached past her waist-or would have if it hadn't been twisted up into a complicated confection of curls atop her head. Marcell's initial glance at the painting had left her with the impression of a young woman, almost a girl, but Marcell knew better, that the Princess was older than she looked as she had been painted. Another glance at the portrait where it sat on the wall of her study reaffirmed her desire to formally meet Aliaga. She was indeed lovely, with piercing hazel eyes, and the tall fleethound that sat at her side and the bow on the wall behind her promised that she wasn't shallow; it wasn't even close to everything Marcell was hoping for, but it was one of several qualities that she knew she would appreciate. The initial envoy that the Queen of Atlion had sent had mentioned that Aliaga was interested in hunting, which also boded well for Marcell. "The plans for our interaction over the next week, do they include hawking?"

"Yes, sir. Might I also suggest adding a formal dinner between the two of you on the third night of her visit?" Willian suggested.

Marcell wanted to tell him not to bother, that she wanted to get to know Aliaga before scheduling a dinner, but staring into his eyes, she didn't see a point. Willian had years more experience than she did at serious political planning, even though she and Digory had been inseparable since they had been little and she'd had all the opportunities she'd ever wanted to watch Digory maneuver around the nobles. "Why?" she asked.

"Because it will look good to her keepers," Willian said bluntly, "and show that you aren't just doing this to satisfy the Council. You are interested in finding a wife, Marcell-everyone at court knows that-but there is a difference between the women you date for show and the women you date because there is a chance that you might find a match in one of them. It's not blindingly obvious however-you're too much of a gentleman for that-and we need to work to sharpen those lines a little so the Council will stop throwing women at you right and left."

Marcell had to admit that the idea was a good one, but she didn't want to commit to spending too much time with someone she hadn't met yet unless she knew that she was attracted to, especially when that time involved an intimate dinner where it was just the two of them, instead of hunting or hawking, which required less sharing of personal information and wasn't overly romantic.

Willian opened the door and ushered Marcell out and down the hall, back towards the throne room. As they walked he quietly informed her about additional supplicants who had come seeking assistance with their crops or homes, and matters that the travelling judges could not settle peacefully. Marcell sighed when he started describing a case about a pair of fishing villages who had failed to compromise on the matter of a hunted and beached whale. "Ye gods, I hate fishing villages," she murmured as they entered the throne room to a herald's announcement of the King's arrival.

Her arrival was greeted with general interest, but the tone was relaxed and less angry than it had been a year ago when she had first taken the throne. She had initially been greeted with anger, much of which had been directed at Digory for leaving her people without a ruler for so long, but some of it had been personal; after all, who was Marcell aside from a friend of the abdicating monarch, and what right had she to rule?

Winning over the people hadn't been easy, but it required less political maneuvering than daily life with the nobles did. Marcell had tried to win the hearts of her people, to be seen as a fair judge, and tact and watching Digory for nigh thirty years had made it simple. She had begun by beginning every session that involved settling disputes by ordering grievances by how she would need to act upon them. Complaints that required diplomacy, kindness, and understanding always came first in the day, followed by those involving money or theft. Next she would deal with larger issues between towns or nobles, but she always saved the harsher cases for last, to remind those watching that while she could be gentle and kind when the situation called for it, when needed she could be as ruthless as any. Today her last act was to pass judgment a horde of five raiders who had been marauding among the mining villages in the north, and as fit their crimes of rape and murder, she sentenced them to hang, and for the bodies to be left above crossroads near the villages they had plundered, as a warning to their fellows.

Her herald announced the end of today's petitions, and Marcell tensed, straightening up in her seat. "Princess Aliaga Yenmorn of Atlion, here to greet her Majesty King Marcell Seaster of Thenalium."

A tall brunette woman who greatly resembled the painting in Marcell's study glided across the floor. The way she moved gave Marcell the impression of grace, and her face greatly moved Marcell. She was indeed as lovely as her portrait, and as elegant and slim as a willow. There was no dog at her side, but the bevy of maidens who struggled to keep up with her testified that Aliaga was accustomed to moving swiftly. She dipped into a deep curtsey, bowing her head to display a small silver tiara set with emeralds. "Your Majesty," she said, showing off a husky voice that Marcell decided that she rather liked.

"Princess," Marcell said in return, straightening up a little more. "I trust you found your journey pleasant?"

"It was very enlightening, Majesty," Aliaga said. "Your country seems very bountiful at this time of year." One of her ladies in waiting leaned over and whispered something in her ear, and Aliaga's cheekbones darkened a little. "I also hope that this trip proves bountiful for both of our countries."

Marcell was nonplussed at what to say to that, and all she could manage was, "As do I, my lady." Marcell nodded at Aliaga, which signaled that the audience was over.

Aliaga and her entourage swept out of the Great Hall, and once the doors had closed behind the last of them Marcell gratefully stood, ready to go back to her rooms and prepare herself for tonight dinner. She wanted to look presentable, and though she hadn't been doing anything strenuous to make herself dirty, living on an ocean-locked ship for a seemingly interminable amount of time had rather cemented the notion that bathing very, very regularly was a Good Thing, especially when it involved soap and all the hot water she could want.

True to her wishes, she found a steaming bath waiting in her rooms, and after stripping she sank into it gratefully. The hot water eased her muscles where they had been tense with frustration. Why was it so hard for these farmers and fishing villages and miners to settle their own disputes without relying on the supreme word of the ruler to resolve things?

She scooped up a handful of soft soap from a ceramic dish that lay on the table near the tub and started scrubbing herself with it. As her fingers slid over her right arm, she hit a numb spot and shuddered. A white, ropy scar curved around her arm just below her shoulder, and below it much of her arm was numb in spots. Most people didn't know that when Marcell danced with a woman she couldn't feel the softness of their fingers in her hand, for her palm was numb, and that there were stretches of unfeeling skin from Marcell's wrist to the scar that varied in size. It made wearing silk and similar fabrics extremely annoying, for she couldn't feel the cloth touching her skin in the dead areas, and then it would slide across a live patch of skin and surprise her. The only sensations she could feel in the numb areas were extreme heat and extreme cold, and pressure. Simple sensations like the bark of trees being rough she could tell because it look longer to drag her palm across it, but the slipperiness of silk and the roughness of wool were beyond her. She could still grip a sword or draw an arrow on a bow, but she had to constantly remind herself to keep a tight hold. And all because of a stupid piece of slate. The best healers in Thenalium had looked at it and pronounced it as healed as it was going to get. They could try to cut it open again and reknit the nerves, but it had been deemed risky, and could cause more damage than there already was. Since there shouldn't have been any more fighting, Marcell didn't see the point in taking the risk for something she was already learning to live with. She dripped more soap onto her arm and watched it run over two dead areas. The soap slid across her skin and she couldn't feel it unless there was pressure behind it, pushing it into her skin. Marcell plunged her arm into the water and scrubbed the soap away. She washed all four inches of her hair, finished her bath and got out. A towel was warming on a rack by the fire and she used it to dry off, reveling in the feel of soft, warmed wool on her shoulders.

She looked at the water clock and realized that she still had an hour before she was to meet her higher nobles, the envoy from Atlion, and Aliaga and her retinue for dinner. There was a set of clothes laid out upon the bed; she assumed that one of the servants had brought it in while she'd been bathing in the other room. She eyed the fireplace that connected the rooms and wondered how she hadn't heard the woman. Shrugging, she decided to put on part of the outfit now and finish the rest later. She put on the black pants and white undershirt and left the coat. The servants probably wouldn't come in to usher her downstairs until a half-hour before the dinner, so she decided to relax for a while and not put on the undoubtedly uncomfortable coat. It was rather heavy with gilding and stiff with being pressed as well, and she wondered brei. Her desk in the other room held several books that she had been meaning to read, but between portraits of this Princess and Councilors wanting to push their own agenda and her own general exhaustion, she hadn't been able to spend much time perusing them.

The portrait on the wall drew her eyes, and she wondered again about Aliaga and what the woman was like outside of playing the role of a Princess. What did she want? Marcell knew what she herself wanted, and it wasn't to have to spend endless days dealing with a Council that had barely stopped fighting her every order. She enjoyed ruling Thenalium, and making good on her promise to Digory that she could be a good monarch who tried to be her best for her people, but she wanted something more for _her_. She wanted courtship that didn't involve an endless line of portraits, lineage, and interests being paraded before her, along with the sighs that came when she turned them down-Oh how it was such a _bother_ finding Princesses that would be willing to be courted by another woman, even one such as Marcell, and couldn't she just _try_ a little?

But what she wanted-oh, what she wanted most of all-was a woman-a partner, really, who wanted her for who she was, not the crown that sat upon her head. Marcell wanted a partner who she could call her own; someone who would be as much of a partner as a lover, and someone who could take care of herself. She didn't want to be just some stupid portrait to these women who were coming from all the Kingdoms beyond the pale, or someone with a crown to all the women who were coming from in-Kingdom.

Most of the Councilors were probably fervently praying for a match between Marcell and Aliaga. It would mean better trade opportunities; even though Atlion didn't border Thenalium, it would give Thenalium access to several of the trade markets to the east, and if there was ever a war it would mean that Atlion would be obliged to help defend Thenalium. The intricacies of what the Council wanted warred with what Marcell herself wanted, and she felt a headache coming on.

The couch in her study seemed to call to her, and she resigned the books to another time and sat down, sinking into the lush pillows gratefully. The day's exhaustion seemed to hit her then, and she decided that taking a little nap would be a fantastic idea.

#

A hand on her shoulder shook her into wakefulness, and Marcell jerked awake, wincing. Her left shoulder was sore from the way she'd fallen asleep on it, and her neck hurt, too. It was a wonderful way to start the evening. Willian eyed her. "Tired, sir?"

"Marcell, please, Willian," Marcell groaned as she pulled herself away from the too-comfortable couch. Willian helped her up, then gestured a manservant forward. The man was holding out the stiff coat that Marcell had foregone before, and she was suddenly grateful she hadn't fallen asleep in it; it would have been terribly wrinkled by now.

Sighing, she turned her back to the man and he helped her into the coat. He had to help her with the fastenings across the front; with the fingers on her right hand next to useless for dexterous work like this, it would have taken her thrice the time it took him to fasten the dolman across her front.

With the coat on, she had to admit that she looked handsome, unless the mirror was lying. Her manservant fussed over her hair and nails more than she ever had in her life, but the end result was attractive, and Willian was clearly satisfied. She glanced out the window; it was past twilight now. The Star Ocean was remaining true to its name; even the short glance Marcell was giving it now rewarded her with the view of a bright trail of a falling star and she wished it luck in its journey. She gave herself a last once-over in the mirror before nodding at Willian, and the two of them left the room for the main dining hall.


	2. Chapter Two

Marcell had known that the room would appear a little small with all of the people in attendance, but she didn't realize how small, even with the tables set in a U with a good amount of space in the middle for a group of minstrels and dancing. _Maybe we should have moved this to the Great Hall_, she thought as she entered the room and anyone sitting pushed their chairs back to stand.

"King Marcell of Thenalium!" a herald announced, and Marcell strode down the center of the dining hall with Willian at her side. Most of the courtiers sat down after she had passed, but at the end of the hall, where the king's table was, a group of women and men remained standing. Marcell knew from a distance that one of the women at the table was Princess Aliaga, and that she would be seated to Marcell's left, but it was still nerve-wracking to have the woman here, and be seconds away from meeting her rather less formally than she had before. She approached the table and the company remained standing.

A servant pulled out Marcell's chair and she sat down, keeping her eyes on Aliaga. The princess and her retinue sat a moment after Marcell did and a moment after that, servants entered the room with platters and pitchers and began circling among the nobles. At the same time, a troupe of tumblers joined the musicians in the center of the room, accompanied by jugglers tossing balls, knives, and burning torches.

As a servant began placing steamed dumplings on her plate, and another placed a bowl of chilled soup before her, Marcell turned to Aliaga. "How do you find your accommodations, Princess?" she asked.

"They are sumptuous, Majesty," Aliaga replied. Her eyes were steadily fixed on Marcell's. "Might I inquire as to what food we shall be feasting upon tonight?"

"Ah-yes, yes," Marcell said quickly. "I believe it's the dumplings and soup you see before you, then we will see lamb stew and roast venison, and then strawberries and cream."

Aliaga said, "It sounds appealing, Majesty. I did not know that strawberries grew this late in the year here. Do you use greenhouses?"

"Actually the southernmost top of Thenalium where it stretches down into the summer valleys-that's where we grow them. The land stays warmer later in the year," Marcell explained.

"I see," Aliaga said. At that, Atlion's Ambassador, who was seated on Aliaga's other side, began conversing with her, and Willian started up a quiet conversation with Marcell about the amount of crescenium coming from the mining towns. It wasn't until after the feast was over, and the jugglers and acrobats were leaving the room, did Marcell remember that they were clearing the room for a reason, and that meant that she was supposed to dance with Aliaga. Several nobles were already partnering off and beginning to dance to the strains of a waltz.

Nervously, she cleared her throat and stood. She bowed low to Aliaga, who was clearly belatedly realizing Marcell's intentions and was trying to stand. Marcell pulled her chair out and bowed from the waist. "Princess Aliaga, may I have this dance?"

Aliaga's cheeks colored nicely and she held her hand out for her to take. Marcell drew her to her feet, and then proffered her arm. The princess took it, and Marcell led her to where the courtiers were already winding around the floor in a slow waltz. They moved into a waltz with Marcell stiffly leading, and Aliaga proved herself to be a flawless dancer.

After a few turns in the dance Marcell found herself relaxing into it; Aliaga was the kind of woman that made her dance partner feel at ease, and Marcell surprised herself by moving into it as the tempo of the music increased. She caught and turned Aliaga neatly in her arms, and the princess responded by twisting gracefully through the dance, adding a few flourishes that Marcell wasn't quite familiar with.

The dance slowed down, and Aliaga came closer, smiling. She was barely breathing hard. "You dance quite well, Majesty," she said.

"Please, call me Marcell," Marcell said, and just like that the ice between them had been broken. She held Aliaga closer, more naturally, and though Aliaga didn't press herself against Marcell, she made it obvious that she didn't find Marcell unattractive.

"You dance quite well, Marcell," Aliaga repeated.

"As do you," Marcell replied. She laughed. "I must admit, you make me feel like quite debonair on the dance floor."

Aliaga chuckled. "I've been told that before. My mother used to make me dance with every man in the room before I told her that I would rather marry a queen or another princess."

Marcell raised an eyebrow. "What did she say to that?" Along with the other leading courtiers in the room, she lifted her partner into a twirl.

"She wasn't delighted, but she knew that somewhere out there would be other princesses and queens with my same inclinations, and it wasn't difficult for my mother to decide to send you a portrait."

"Was it my dashing good looks?" Marcell laughed.

Aliaga spun under her arm, frowning. "I think it was more your accessibility to the sea, to be honest," she said.

Marcell groaned theatrically. "What do _you_ think of my dashing good looks?" she asked. She wanted to know right now before she invested herself emotionally whether Aliaga found her attractive.

The princess didn't quite look awkward, but she did seem a little ill-at-ease. "I think you're quite striking," she said.

Though she was a little confused at what exactly Aliaga meant by that, Marcell decided to let it go for now. It was a topic she could pursue later in the Princess's visit, when they were alone.

They took a few more turns around the room before Aliaga's smile returned, and Marcell began to enjoy herself again. She wanted to ask her for a quiet word elsewhere, but she didn't get the chance. Willian was beckoning her over, and when she broke with Aliaga to see what he wanted, he quietly inquired as to her progress with and feelings towards the Princess, and she filled him in quickly.

Soon afterwards, Aliaga was claimed for the rest of the night by the Ambassador and some of Thenalium's nobles, who whisked Aliaga around the dance floor like they were the ones courting her. Marcell wasn't about to complain; it just gave her time to watch Aliaga. She kept stealing glances at the princess, trying to match Aliaga with the mental image she had of a queen who could rule by her side, but it was like trying to compare the sun with the moon. She just didn't know enough about Aliaga to make that judgment. Her fickle heart craved to be filled by a partner, but memories of Digory and Jill hung around her like ghostly warnings; she wanted something like what they had. It hadn't been love at first sight, Jill had told her, but they had quickly garnered mutual respect that had eventually blossomed into love. It had taken time, which was one of the reasons why Jill had found her way to Marcell's bed before realizing what she had with Digory.

It was midnight before Aliaga and her attendants left the feast, and only after that did Marcell gauge that it was diplomatically sensible to leave the room and seek the refuge of her bed. She bid Willian and the few courtiers that she had come to consider close acquaintances good night and left the dining hall.

In her bed later, she fell asleep easily, but it was not Aliaga who she dreamed about. She was on a beach, but it was like no beach she had ever been on, even though the _Witch's Name_ had traveled far on the Star Ocean. The sand was a strange black hue, and the water was the dark blue backlit with green that it sometimes got in the middle of the day, but the sky above held only a full moon and the great milky arm of the cosmos above. None of the stars were in patterns she recognized, and she was standing on the strange black sand, but she wasn't alone. Down in the surf, a figure splashed in the water, and further out a strange croon emanated from the ocean.

She slowly approached the figure in the surf, and a woman's face with silver-washed black hair looked up at her with ebony eyes, and a voice that was too musical to bear said something in a language that Marcell could neither have understood nor explained. Marcell reached out to her, and then a figure that was more bird than human rose from the waves. It spread wide wings that seemed too black against the starry sky, and stretched a body too long to be human but with too much unadorned skin to be a bird. The bird-woman looked down a Marcell and opened a mouth that was too wide to be human, and said with a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth, "Will you come to me on the ocean, my king?"

But a long while ago, Marcell had made a promise to herself that a life on the sea just wasn't possible any more, and though she felt too full of regret to feel anything else ever again, she shook her head at the woman.

"Then I shall come to you," said the bird-woman, and she spread her wings and launched herself upward. That melodious voice filled the air again, and Marcell realized belatedly that what she had just seen was a Siren.

She awoke sweating and shivering, and when she made to push herself off of the bed, her hand met with a huge patch of water on the bed to her right. It was all over her right hand as well, and she touched it to her lips. Her hand smelt of the ocean, and of a sun-warmed ship's deck. For just a moment, she thought she was back on the _Witch's Name_.

#

As the days shortened Marcell saw little of Aliaga in day-to-day life outside of the nightly dinners with the nobles, but she saw much of the Princess on the special hunts and on the third night of the Princess's visit, the official courtship dinner.

Aliaga wore a green hunter's gown of velvet, trimmed with silver lace and embroidery. The laced sleeves tied on at the shoulder, showing off a white linen shift beneath, and a leather girdle embossed with silver stags running between trees hung low on her trim hips. A delicate silver diadem, finer than the circlet she had taken to wearing at their nightly dinners but less formal than the tiara she had worn to be presented at the court, graced her brow.

"Majesty," she said when Marcell greeted her at the door of the small dining hall. "I am most honored." She curtsied deeply.

"As I am honored to have you here, Princess," Marcell replied. She took Aliaga's hand and tucked it beneath her arm, and led the Princess to a small dinner table that had been set for two in the middle of the room. Countless candles glowed from sconces on the wall, and the room was lit a soft gold by their light. Outside, the light shining down on the gardens was paler moonlight.

They sat at the table and immediately a servant came out with soup in a small tureen, and silently spooned it into their silver filigreed bowls. Simple pleasantries were exchanged over the squash bisque silently, and when they were finished the servant came again with a pair of plates with artfully arranged slices of capon and a venison pie.

"Aliaga," Marcell began as they spooned up the last of an exquisite dessert of a blueberry tart drenched in raspberry sauce.

"Yes, Maj-Marcell?" Aliaga replied. She slipped the final bite of tart into her mouth and it was clear from her face that she had enjoyed it.

"Would you care to dance?"

"Of course, Majesty," Aliaga said. Her cheeks were tinted a pale rose, and she took Marcell's hand. The king guided her away from the table, and Aliaga followed Marcell's lead into a slow waltz around the room.

As they turned around the room, Marcell leaned in close. "Princess, I must ask," she said hesitatingly. "Do you. . . am I the kind of woman who you are attracted to?"

"I cannot answer one way or the other," Aliaga said. Her face was turned to the side. "I like your confidence, Marcell. It is one of the traits I find most flattering in a woman." Here she paused.

"But?" Marcell prodded gently.

"But there are things about you that I do not quite understand," Aliaga said quietly. "I do not understand why you insist upon being called 'king' instead of 'queen', or why you affect short hair and the manner and clothes of a man. To be quite honest, if I wanted to be courted by a man and marry one, I would not be here."

"I'm not a _man_," Marcell said just as quietly. "Yes, I've been told that I look like a man, but I'm comfortable like this. It's just how I am and how I've always felt inside."

"Is it that you want to be a man?" Aliaga said. Her eyes were sad, but she was earnest, and it was obvious that she was trying to understand.

"No!" Marcell exclaimed. "When I was a child, I always tried to be more feminine for my parents, but I was the girl who played with toy ships and soldiers, and if we played make-believe I was always the prince who saved the princess. So no, I don't want to be a man. I enjoy being a woman too much." She decided that perhaps a little vulgarity wouldn't be over the top, and she leaned in as if to whisper a secret. "If it relieves you, I love the feel of a woman's hand between my legs, stroking outside, then in. To have a phallus instead of a cunny might be nice once in a while, but it's that warm heat between my legs that I crave the most."

Aliaga's face was bright red, and for a minute Marcell thought that she might be having a fit. "Aliaga?" she asked uncertainly. Had she gone too far?

"I think," Aliaga said finally, "I think I need some air. Might we-might we go outside? Please?"

"Of course." Marcell seized Aliaga's hand and escorted her out the double doors into the moonlit gardens. The scent of roses was heavy in the air, mixed with the scent of night jasmine and gardenia. It was almost cloyingly sweet, which was why Marcell didn't venture out into the garden that often. She led Aliaga over to past the flowering bushes to a stone bench beneath the heavy boughs of an apple tree. The branches were laden with fruit, and the scent of apples was a light scent on the breeze, like sweet honey but more mellow. The moon peeked through the exposed branches and made the chill air seem crisper, somehow. The shadows of apples stretched on the ground like tiny eclipses, moving only when a cold breeze rustled through the tree, making the branches creak and whisper eldritch secrets into the garden.

"It's a little chilly," Aliaga admitted, and Marcell slipped her arm around the Princess's shoulders.

"Better?"

Aliaga nodded.

They both fell silent, looking out into the empty garden. The breeze picked up again, and the scent of apples filled the air again.

"Marcell," Aliaga started, and then she tilted her head just _so_ that in the moonlight, her hair appeared black and gilded with silver. For just a moment she appeared to be the woman in Marcell's dream, and Marcell leaned forward and didn't let her finish. She'd kissed many women before, but this courtship Aliaga was the first that Marcell truly couldn't afford to wreck. A kiss would tell her all she needed to know about her future with the princess, and it did. Aliaga's lips were soft, not chapped and warm, but there as a subtle reluctance there that spoke wonders to Marcell. This woman-Aliaga-wasn't the partner Marcell had thought she might be. She wasn't the woman for Marcell, and Marcell wasn't the woman for her. Without Marcell pushing, the kiss disintegrated like a sand castle beneath a wave. Marcell could have pressed forward, could have kissed Aliaga again, but she didn't.

Aliaga's fingers were pressed to her mouth, and her eyes were wide and argent in the moonlight. Her hair-her hair wasn't silver at all, but it wasn't just that that disappointed Marcell. It was the look in her eyes that said Marcell had spoiled things on a level that was less than personal but not something that the princess was likely to forget very soon. "For just a moment," Aliaga whispered, "you looked like you were drowning, and you tasted like the sea."


	3. Chapter Three

The ocean was incredibly blue today, but all Teles Galia could see was the gently waving mat of a piece of fan coral in front of her. It was in a shallow enough area of water that the red and purple brilliance of the branches weren't lost to the depths of the water. She gently snapped off a long piece, thanking the coral for its gift, and placed it in the magicked bag at her side. That bag was one of her most valuable possessions; it could keep anything placed inside it in a static state. She swam over and onto the pile of rocks that had allowed her to land so near the coral in the first place and climbed out, shaking herself off as she went. She closed the bag and finished shaking her feathers off, then crouched and launched herself upward into the cool, salty air above the ocean.

The clouds above were white and looked soft, fluffy like her feathers did when they were dry and clean, but she knew from experience that they were anything but. She flew up anyway, pushing herself to go higher into the air that grew progressively colder as she went further up. Above the clouds, the air was almost bitterly cold, despite the bright sun. The bag at her side would protect the coral, she knew, and she flew still higher. At this elevation, she could see both the island that she lived on in the distance and the remote brightening of the water far to the West that signaled a close, large landmass. To her knowledge, it held nothing of interest to her, and she turned her flight to the west, heading for home.

Sirenuse loomed below the clouds, and she lowered her flight and stretched her wings and glided downwards. Her flight was more than the effortless glide that it looked; she had to make countless minute adjustments of her feathers to keep her flight smooth and unjolted.

She landed feet down and running before she slowed and she brought her arms down to her sides again. The bag hadn't even leaked any of its precious contents, and for that she was thankful. She immediately headed for her rooms in the large house that stood in the middle of the island. It was a large mansion, and sometimes she thought it was a little large for the amount of women that lived in it, but when there were arguments or disagreements, the space worked well for diffusing tension.

Her room was in a corner of the third floor of the manse, and as such it had one of the best views of the island in two directions; to the north it looked out on the wild orchards, and to the east it overlooked the tiny freshwater lagoon behind the house. Just now she wasn't looking out at either of those things, focusing more on putting the coral she had gathered in its new home in the large vivarium that made up a corner of her room. A tiny touch of magic stuck the base of the coral to the rock at the bottom of the aquatic section of the vivarium, and it would remain that way until enough polyps had built up at the base to make the coral secure on its own, and at that point the magic would dissolve.

Teles sat back and sighed in contentment at the sight of the small world she had created. In the lowest parts, shrimp and algae thrived in a tiny ocean, and as the water grew shallower, the life changed. Tiny fish swam around the shore, flowing closer and further from the sand with the false wind that made currents of air from harsh breezes and gentle zephyrs within the ecosphere. On the small shore, glassworts gave way to villosa lilac and a few small, precious shore pines that had been incredibly tricky to get; only bargaining with a few seagulls that dared go near the mainland shore had gotten her the seeds for the pines, and she had nurtured the seedlings lovingly until they had been strong enough to be transplanted into the vivarium. Far from the miniature shore, where a small twisting of magic kept the salt from the ocean from seeping, passionflower vines and a few milkweeds grew among a smattering of wildflowers that the birds had brought her. These had been the most difficult to obtain of all; they served as food, shelter, and the only larval food sources that most of her caterpillars could eat. Butterflies had been exceedingly rare on the island until Teles' ecosystem had come to fruition and since then she had been their champion on Sirenuse, growing plants to put around the island and harvesting eggs to bring into the ecosystem to give the larvae a higher chance of survival. The butterflies were a source of joy to few of the other Sirens, but none of them obsessed over them as much as she did, and that made her something of a loner on the island.

The majority of the other Sirens cared more for the sea and the sand than she did, and to be more interested in land and air plants and animals than anything beneath the waves had labeled her an outsider. Her awkward nature didn't help, so she had few friends. Her butterflies and vivarium were enough to sustain her, even as she cared little for the tricksy activities that her sisters and the other Sirens enjoyed. What they termed the 'art' of ensnaring human males involved luring them off of their boats to swim into the currents that would leave them stranded on the rocky northern shore of Sirenuse, and then captivating them with their voices until the men were forever enchanted, bound to serve the Sirens until the day they died. It was how Teles had gained her personal servant, Jolim. He had arrived wearing all white, which he still insisted upon wearing, but he was the only one of the servants that had knowledge of horticulture, which made him invaluable to Teles. It was also his stories that had given Teles her knowledge of the world beyond Sirenuse.

His tales of a kingdom on the mainland called Thenalium were detailed as no liar could make them, and his tales of the women that he had been hunting were even more in depth, describing a pair of the most fearsome women that Thenalium had ever seen. One was the Heir, who could not take the throne until she had a long-lost sword. Her name was Digory, and she didn't have the decency to die and let another take the throne. That one admission had made Teles unremorseful that Jolim was stuck on the island for life, but she still used him as a source of information. The other woman travelling with Digory had been the Heir's staunchest ally, a woman named Marcell. In Jolim's opinion, she had been even worse than the Heir, for she had abandoned her country, stolen a newly-commissioned ship from Thenalium's navy, and gone to join forces with Digory. That had been a few months before Jolim had arrived on the island, and he had been on the island for a very long time.

He was never going to get off the island, and as Teles was very much immortal, once he died she would be the only one on the island with that information. She was the only one of her sisters who did not willfully engage in the act of ensnaring the dark hearts of human males, but she had to admit that Jolim's services were priceless, and she was not unhappy to have gained his aid.

"Jolim," she called. She could actually use him now. "Jolim!"

It was only a minute before he appeared in the doorway, a thin, ascetic-appearing man with dark hair and dressed in white. "Lady," he said, bowing respectfully. "How may I serve you?"

"I would like a pitcher of wine and a bread bowl with soup, please," she said.

Jolim bowed. "Right away, Lady," he said respectfully, and left.

Teles sighed and sank down onto her bed. It wasn't long before Jolim returned; like a good servant, he must have been anticipating her needs, and he laid the food on the single, small table in the corner of the room. "Is that all, Lady?" he asked. As always, the question seemed to imply more than it should; that if Teles required services of a more carnal nature, he would be happy to provide them.

"No, that's it for tonight," she said, making her meaning very clear. One of the happiest days of her life would be when Jolim finally stopped intimating that he would not complain were Teles to require him for an erotic purpose. Only Teles knew that she never would, for men were not something that she could ever find titillating. Unfortunately for Teles herself, she was entirely out of luck; the Sirens were exogamous, and since for the most part they were related by blood, they could not-as a rule-be endogamous. When the Sirens wanted to mate they took a servant to their beds, never each other. And so Teles was alone on the island, more than she wanted to be, which led her to the recourse that she would soon be seeking; now that her vivarium was complete and self-sustaining, she could finally begin what she had sought to do for so long; seek out the Sea Witch and request her aid to meet someone who she could love, and who could love her in return.

Tomorrow; it had always been tomorrow, and the knowledge that her aid was a day away had always sustained her, but it had never happened until now. There had always been something in the way, whether it was more tales she wanted to learn from Jolim or the fact that her vivarium was incomplete in one way or another, and would eventually die from the lack of that one missing element. But now there were no excuses; nothing to keep her behind or locked to the island. Tonight would be her last night as a Siren on the island of Sirenia. Tomorrow she would seek out the Sea Witch and ask for her help.

#

Aliaga's final day in Grimmsward was not long after that night, and it was not with much sorrow that Marcell sent her eastward-home-with her escort.

The day after Aliaga had left, Marcell called a Council meeting, and it was with no small amount of relief that she had woken up feeling refreshed, firm, and decisive. She was _not _going to let the Council attempt to bully her into a marriage alliance any longer.

The atmosphere of the chamber where the Council was held was just as Marcell had expected; subdued. She had expected the subtle looks out of the corners of their eyes, and Willian had informed her about several "hidden" meetings that had gone on behind closed doors, so she wasn't totally unprepared for the sly looks on some faces and mutinous ones on others. His army of pages that no one ever seemed to notice unless they needed paper or a pitcher of wine was a wonderful weapon.

They managed to dispose with some trivial business pertaining to the finalities of a trade route on the northern border before Lady Ravastina Chorster, speaker for the northern mining guilds, cleared her throat awkwardly and stopped attempting to dance around the elephant in the room. "About the matter of your Majesty's courtship with the Atlion Princess," she began, but she stopped when Marcell's eyes narrowed.

"About that," Marcell said with a tight smile. "I am done with match-making for now."

"Was the princess that disagreeable?" interjected Kevven Sharil. He represented the eastern holdings near the border that was closest to Atlion. Only the kingdom of Wyrist separated him from Atlion, and he would certainly have been the first to benefit from a marriage alliance that included trading rights.

"She was not," Marcell said. "In fact, I found the Princess very charming and highly intelligent."

"Then why not wed her?" Ravastina asked.

"She didn't find me overly appealing," Marcell said. "She said that I was indeed attractive, but she was not content with my more mannish qualities." With a single, fluid gesture she took in her clothes, her hair, and the way she sat at the table.

"Majesty, have you considered possibly er-there is no delicate way to put this-acting and dressing a little more like a queen instead of a king?" Kevven asked.

Marcell cut him off rapidly. "I will not. To do so would go against the very grain of who I am. _Lord_ Kevven," and she made the title an insult, "would you have suggested this to Digory?"

The room collectively held its breath. Everyone knew of the regard that Marcell had held-still held-Digory in, and Kevven had never once complained about Digory's attire or attitude.

"No, Majesty," he said, sounding peeved. "I only meant to suggest that perhaps you might be a little more popular with more princesses of your _leanings_ if you changed your appearance a little. That you might benefit from a little cosmetics and care to your apparel instead of wearing trews and shirts. You are not an unattractive woman, Majesty. Princess Aliaga must have realized that, and some of the correspondences you have received from kingdoms that have received your portrait do not call you unsightly. Most of their reasons for turning you down revolve around this façade you put on."

_That's it. _"I am the monarch regnent," Marcell said acidly. "It would do well for you to remember that, Lord Kevven. I rule here as a monarch, not only because I have the sword of Thenalium, but because Digory chose me to rule in her place. The people support me on the throne, as do many of the nobles. I am a true and fair ruler, and I have no need of a wife by my side for your approval. I cannot have an heir since I will not lie with a man, nor can I make an heir of my own with a woman. I am a _woman_, Lord Kevven. I understand that fundamentally, perhaps more than you do."

"But why be like that? Why act like a man when you aren't? Why not embrace your womanhood and be our queen?" Of course, it was Kevven again.

"Lord Kevven, you aren't exactly the kind of manly warrior that the bards compose epic songs about. You are fine with the way you look and act, and you don't feel the need to pick up a sword and go to war whenever there's trouble on the border. You didn't renounce your title and become a White Rider to hunt down Digory when she refused to die because some paltry old rule said that she couldn't rule without the sword of Thenalium." Kevven colored at that; he had been one of the most vocal voices calling for Digory's death, but he had been part of a group advocating her sacrifice 'for the good of the kingdom', and had not become more powerful than any other Councilor, so there had been no sinkhole for him. "I am who I am and what I choose to be, and that is a good monarch for Thenalium. If the rest of you choose not to like who and what I am then so be it, but I will not stand here and take insults from you like some low-life mercenary."

She turned on her heel and stalked from the room, and for the rest of the day she attended to some trivial personal correspondence to rustic lords and ladies out in the countryside who hadn't the money or the desire to spend time playing political games at court but wished to remain her staunch allies, and when she had run out of letters to respond to and things to say, she climbed into bed and blew out the candles until only the waning moon lit her room.

She knew that turning down Aliaga had been the right thing to do, and that neither of them would have been happy in any sort of marriage alliance, but it was a cold comfort, and her bed seemed to stretch wide and empty as she cried herself to sleep.


	4. Chapter Four

The Councilors didn't quite drop the matter of Marcell finding a consort after her fit of temper, but it was a muted thing, whispered only in secret conferences between Councilors, but none dared bring the matter up again. What they did dare to bring up, however, was an entirely different matter.

"No," Marcell said vehemently as the Fleet Admiral finished detailing the plan. "You know my feelings on the matter, and my answer is _no_."

"But Majesty, a trip out onto the ocean would very much be an excellent idea. Lord-the former king Digory has sent word that she would like to see you again."

_In other words,_ Marcell thought, _she thinks that I'm secure enough upon the throne to hazard a visit. _

"Digory is willing to risk coming back to Thenalium?" she asked.

"Yes, Majesty," he said. "The sojourn out onto the ocean would not be an overly long one. I know of your aversion to the ocean, and I assure you; the _Lorelei_ is perfectly safe. She is the newest ship in the fleet; our new flagship, if you will. Majesty, upon my honor, 'less there is a natural disaster that befalls us, you shall not come to harm upon the _Lorelei._"

Marcell sighed. "Show me the ship."

Those four words had been her downfall. It was indeed a marvelous ship; bigger than the _Witch's Name_, with three masts and a high, rounded stern. Marcell appreciated it for its beauty, but for all of its splendor it wouldn't be enough to tempt her back to the ocean on a regular basis; it would take far more than a pretty ship to coax her. But for now. . . it would be enough to get her onto the ocean. She hated the ocean, loathed the idea of being stuck out there again, but for Digory she would do quite a lot. She had taken the throne for Digory, so she supposed she could suffer through a day on the sea for her.

"I'll do it, but I'll have you know that I'm not overjoyed," she told Admiral Darnys.

He smiled. "Digory will be very happy," he said, and Marcell was reminded why she'd chosen him as a replacement for Farzhad, whose main objective in life had seemed to have been to pursue Digory hither and thither over the Star Ocean until one of them died. Darnys had never said a bad word about Digory, and Marcell had the added benefit of growing up under his watchful eye, and then serving beneath him on a ship. He hadn't precisely _allowed_ her to commandeer the _Witch's Name_, but he hadn't exactly stopped her, and he'd certainly made sure that the ship's crew had been loyal to Digory to a man.

He led her off, then, describing the ship's development and fittings, which-while Marcell herself wouldn't be the one captaining the ship-she found fascinating, and his descriptions of the work that had gone into the ship and the things that it could do took up most of the rest of the day.

#

Teles took the sea road to the west of the island, flying above road towards the dead areas of the sea. It was a long, dull journey, for there was nothing to see but dead coral to either side of the line of rounded blocks, and beyond that, grey sand. At the end of the road, where the Sea Witch lived, there was a sudden explosion of color, and a strange forest came into view. Brown mangroves arched over the water on their roots and formed a barrier to any water-bound life that sought the Sea Witch, but they did not trouble Teles as she flew over them.

The mangroves hid a lagoon that held marine life in abundance, and Teles bit back as gasp as the sun illuminated the rainbow that lived within. Sea-flowers of many different colors spread their petals to the sun, and anemones and urchins added bursts of red and purple to fields of yellow and orange.

In the middle of all of this color sat a tiny house built of what the Siren first thought was bleached wood. She neared, and saw the long curves of the walls and realized that what the house had been formed of was bone. Sea-fans made up the windows and a large piece of driftwood the door. The entire cottage was crafted of things that had once been alive.

Teles steeled herself, flew down, and landed. On the front steps of the house sat the Sea Witch. She was leaning over something, paying close attention, and barely reacted as Teles' feet hit the sand with a gentle thump. "I know why you are here," said the Sea Witch. "I know what it is that you want."

"You do?" Teles asked in surprise.

The Sea Witch put down what it was that she had been working on, and Teles saw that it was a cormorant. It called out once, a deep, guttural grunt, and took off, winging its way past the mangroves. The Sea Witch watched it fly off with a satisfied look on her face, and then looked back at Teles with a satisfied look on her dark face. "I will not tell you that what you seek is stupid, which is true. Nor will I tell you that it will bring you sorrow, which is true. I can tell you that in the end, you may find more joy than you hoped. You want to meet someone who you can love who is not a Siren, and who will love you in return. You wish to go out and see the world, and when you have discovered who and what it is that you seek, to remain there and never become a Siren again."

The Siren stood there, stunned. A hundred things ran through her mind. _Should I ask why what I seek is stupid? Should I ask why I will come to sorrow? Should I beg for kindness and her aid?_

"Beg for nothing," said the Sea Witch, "for I shall help you and you shall have your way. I can only help you find what you seek by showing you one woman who I think will be your match, but I can help you disguise your appearance as a Siren until such time you choose to reveal yourself."

Teles looked down at herself and saw nothing peculiar that she would have to hide. Her body was strong and lean from years of flying and swimming, and her legs were lean to the point of nearly being overly muscled until the skin changed into yellow, scaled skin and her toes thinned and lengthened into feet that very much resembled those of a bird. The feathers on her wings were uniquely suited for diving deep into the water, and she saw nothing wrong with her countenance. Still. . . the Sea Witch was the most powerful enchantress in the Star Ocean, and she was known to have the power of prescience. If she was advising Teles, who was she to argue?

"Please," Teles said. "I would ask your help."

"And you shall have it," said the Sea Witch. "First I would show you the woman I can send you to, before we are both bound in this pact to send you to your match. Come," and she beckoned Teles inside her house.

The inside of the little cottage seemed bigger than what Teles had seen outside. It was filled with strange implements that moved on their own, and long shelves filled will bottles of every size, shape, and color imaginable.

There was a large, opaque mirror on the wall, seemingly useless with all the scratches on it. Teles wondered what it was for, and then the Sea Witch pulled her over to it. Figures were engraved around the edge, twisted in erotic positions and circling the entire mirror. The Sea Witch placed a hand on it, then motioned for Teles to do the same. With both of their hands on the mirror, nothing happened, and then there came a deep red glow from far within the mirror. It grew and deepened, until the red had filled the mirror, and there was a sound like the clashing of swords. The mirror suddenly became clear, and there was an image in the mirror. A man-no, a woman, Teles realized belatedly-stood on the steps in front of a wooden throne, staring resolutely at something in her hands. She lifted it up and placed it on her head, and Teles realized that it was a silver crown. It was bright silver against the woman's short, dark hair, and the look in the woman's eyes as she looked out past the mirror was filled with a strong determination, and beyond it, a deep satisfaction. Teles liked that look quite a bit. It spoke of strength, and knowledge, and a strong confidence that she knew who she was and what she was, and was satisfied with both of those things. "What is her name?" she asked the Sea Witch.

"Marcell," said the Sea Witch, and Teles thought she might faint. Was she the same Marcell from Jolim's stories? The one who he had hunted?

"Where is she from?" Teles asked, and the Sea Witch told her, "She is the ruler of a country called Thenalium."

The Siren took a breath and considered, then let it out.

"I would very much like to meet her," she said. The Sea Witch smiled.

"Then let us begin." She began pulling bottles off of the wall, and one of the ones she put down on a rickety table was near enough for Teles to read the label and see the contents, and to her surprise she recognized them immediately. Empty butterfly chrysalides and the tag on the jar stated that they were only for spells and potions that required a core-deep change. Several other bottles thunked down on the table, but the labels were either too old or in a language that Teles couldn't read, and the glass was too opaque to see through.

When she had enough bottles down, the Sea Witch pulled a silver cauldron off the wall and emptied a tiny bottle into it that somehow seemed to fill the whole of the cauldron. Then she lit a small fire beneath it, and the flames burned a cold purple. She uttered a string of long, strange words that made no sense to Teles. The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. Steam began rising, and when the Sea Witch dropped in a strange-looking root, silver sparks began to fly from the surface of the potion. Steam followed and thickened, and when the Sea Witch moved to the opposite side of the cauldron from Teles, it hid her from view, except when her hands would emerge from the blur to drop things into the cauldron too quickly for Teles to see what it was she was dropping. Slowly, the surface of the potion changed from sparking silver to a vibrant, sunset-tinged red. All the colors of the setting sun seemed caught within the potion, and Teles thought that it might be one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. The Sea Witch reached across the fire and through the steam to grab hold of one of Teles' hands, and there was a sharp, stinging pain. The Sea Witch had cut Teles' hand, and her bright blood fell into the potion. It turned a deep blue, and then it was bright; so bright that Teles had to close her eyes.

There was a tiny splash, and Teles cracked her eyes to see the Sea Witch putting down the bottle of butterfly chrysalides. "One more ingredient," the Witch said, and she pulled a box off of the table. It was bound tightly with ribbon, and with a single touch the ribbons flew off. She cracked it open above the cauldron, and something incredibly dazzling, with a harsh black core, flew out of the box and straight into the potion. A cry like phoenixsong filled the room, and Teles thought she might cry from the sorrow of it. As soon as it had begun it was gone, and no sound came from potion outside from the crackling of the fire beneath the cauldron.

The potion was darkening quickly, so that one moment it was blue, and the next it was so black that it seemed to suck in all of the light from the purple fire. Teles stared, and the Sea Witch smiled. "It's done."

"Do-do I drink it?" Teles asked uncertainly.

"You do, but first something must happen to throw events in motion which will bring you to Marcell."

The Sea Witch raised her arms and began to chant. Around the cottage, beyond the barriers of the mangroves, a fierce storm began to brew.

#

The day of the celebration on the ocean dawned bright and clear, and Marcell woke feeling nervous but oddly excited.

She went through her usual audience early in the day, and scheduled what few meetings she had for early in the afternoon, so that by mid-afternoon she was restless and more than a little tense.

It did not comfort Marcell as her manservant assisted her in putting on more clothes very like she'd worn for her first dinner with Aliaga; a white shirt beneath a gold-embroidered grey coat and white pants with a grey stripe down the side. The silver crown that sat upon her brow was a simple one, holding only sapphires and small diamonds in its niches instead of the heavier working crown that she usually wore at audiences and when she needed to throw her weight around the Council.

"You are ready, Majesty," her manservant pronounced, and pulled around a mirror for her to appraise his work in.

"Yes," Marcell said, fingering one of the heavy closures of the coat that would keep her warm on the ship as she eyed her reflection. "I believe I am." She grinned. _Digory, you should be shocked_.

The _Lorelei_ was larger than Marcell remembered, and with many of her courtiers packing the deck, and not a cloud in the late afternoon sky, she thought her fears might be unfounded. The nobles glittered like a jewelry box in the sun, and the revelry that effused the ship made Marcell relax. Nothing was going to happen, and as the ship left the shore to sail to the rendezvous point with Digory, Marcell began to relax. It wasn't that anything bad _could _happen, it was just very unlikely.

So when a sudden storm loomed up like a black wall from the west, and the crew on deck were suddenly running about like madmen and shouting for all of the nobles to get below, Marcell felt like someone had hit her between the eyes with a hammer. She immediately sprang into action, assisting the crew with tying down ropes and ushering her nobles below, and in the frantic rush she completely forgot that she was the king, and should probably be below with the rest of the panicking aristocracy.

But she didn't, and as she was tying down a cannon that had ripped loose from its anchors, a halyard smacked her on the shoulder and into the cannon, and she lost her balance and stumbled against the rail. A few crewmembers on the other side of the deck seemed to have finally realized who she was and were rushing over, but a gust of wind tossed the ship to the side, and the strain snapped the only rope that was holding the cannon down. .

The newly frayed rope from the cannon whipped around and snagged on one of the buttons on her coat. _Oh no_, she had time to think before the cannon-dragging her along with it-slid over the edge of the deck and into the water.

Like the captain she had once been, she took a deep breath in the two seconds between the railing of the ship and the surface of the ocean, but the freezing temperature of the water hit her like a fist in the gut, and she automatically clenched, spitting out the precious air.

The cannon plunged down, dragging Marcell along with it.

The deeper she sank, the more colors vanished. The red of the blood seeping from the wound on her brow turned green, and as she watched in horror, the gold edging on her sleeves vanished into a sort of grey color. She scrambled for her boot knife, but to her horror she lost her grip and it tumbled away into the blue, lost.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_, she thought as she frantically fumbled with the rope caught on her coat. Her left hand and what dexterity she had with her right wasn't enough to untangle it, especially with the water smoothing over the roughness of the rope. She couldn't free herself, and she sank still deeper. The pressure was getting to be too much now, and her ears were popping painfully. Her coat! If she could just get out of the stupid thing, she could swim back up, if she wasn't too deep by now. There had been divers in this area once, she recalled as she struggled with the buttons and ties to the jacket. If they had been able to go down and come up on one breath of air, she could survive long enough to try to get back to the surface.

But that was the question: could she survive? Her fingers were rapidly growing numb with the cold, and she still couldn't release the closures on her ensnared coat. If only her fingers hadn't been numb to start with, she might be on the surface even now. The cannon hit the sea floor with an impact that seemed to shake Marcell's whole body, and sand billowed up.

Her lungs were screaming at her now, and the pressure in her ears and lungs was unbearable.

There was a little rope between her and the cannon, and she pulled on it, dragging herself down to the cannon. The rope was tied expertly around the cascabel in a clove hitch, and Marcell was having serious problems untying it. Her vision was going grey, and she thought about Digory and Jill. Would Digory have to come back and take the throne again? She felt a sense of loss. Something was tugging on her boot-was it the cannon? She wanted to look, wanted to look one last time at the stupid cannon that had caused the death of the King of Thenalium, but her head was splitting open. The stars that crashed into the Star Ocean seemed to be coming for her now, but there was a void that surrounded her, and it was deep and final.


	5. Chapter Five

At first Teles had been furious with the Sea Witch, unthinkingly angry that the Sea Witch had sent a storm to sink Marcell's ship, but then she saw the genius behind the plan. Marcell would probably have only a little trouble with the ship; perhaps she would get knocked overboard, and then Teles could rescue her.

But. . . as she flew as fast as she could above the storm to where the Sea Witch had shown the ship to be, she felt a little guilt that there wasn't really a way to meet Marcell on her own, and that Marcell might need to come to a little harm for them to meet. She pushed harder with her wings, flying against the wind to get there in time, and she was barely fast enough.

She plunged through black clouds that felt like pure water against her skin, and came in sight of the ship just in time to see a loose cannon drag Marcell over the side of the ship into the dark water below. Teles took a breath, then folded her wings and plunged like an arrow into the ocean. Forty feet below, Marcell was struggling to free herself from a rope tied securely around the barrel of the cannon. Teles kicked with her feet and used her wings to help herself along, but she wasn't fast enough. She was still twenty feet above Marcell when the woman let out a last few, precious bubbles and went still. Teles bit back a curse and doubled her speed, and she bared her strong, sharp teeth. Marcell was floating very still and silent above the ocean floor, and as Teles bit through the rope she supposed she was lucky that the ocean was almost unnaturally shallow in this area, else Marcell might have had to face the rather uncomfortable experience of having her eardrums burst by the pressure change.

She easily separated Marcell from the cannon and then seized the neck of her coat and dragged her upwards through the water until they both broke the surface. At that point, Teles realized that she was now faced with a problem: how was she supposed to fly when her arms were holding Marcell? There was no land that she could swim to, and the ship was practically out of sight on the horizon. Only the lanterns burning belowdecks told Teles where it was. A large swell surged and hid the ship from sight, and before long it was gone.

Overhead, the clouds were shredding quickly, and a sky bright with the last rays of sunset peeked through. Slowly, as Teles treaded water and held Marcell's head above the surface, the waves eased, and it became easier to stay buoyant. She realized that the Sea Witch must be dispersing the storm, and she started thinking. Her feet weren't the grasping talons of a raptor, but she could grab things and haul them over short distances. How far had the land been?

She tried to think if she'd seen it from above the storm, and realized that she had. It hadn't been far to the east, and she calculated that there was a pretty good chance that she could reach it, even accounting for Marcell's weight. She hefted the unconscious woman in her arms and rolled her onto her back. She'd have to leave Marcell floating in the water, take off on her own, and then come back for Marcell from the air. Would Marcell be able to float on her own for that long? Tentatively, she pulled out her arms from beneath Marcell, and the king dropped a little. Her nose stayed above the water, but then she started rolling and her face went under, and she came up sputtering. Marcell started kicking, and she was treading water on her own as she coughed.

Briefly, Teles considered diving beneath the water again and swimming until she was out of sight, but Marcell's eyes opened and Teles had no time to think. She had never truly liked the color of the ocean, but Marcell's eyes-red rimmed though they were-were a dark blue that Teles found fascinating and alluring.

"Who are you?" Marcell asked, and Teles couldn't say a word. Her voice would only mesmerize Marcell, and if its effect was anything like how it affected the sailors on Sirenuse, Teles couldn't risk beguiling Marcell like that. So she kept her lips tightly shut, and could only smile nervously.

"Did you-" Marcell coughed up seawater. "Did you rescue me?"

At last, a question Teles could answer! She nodded, still smiling, and ducked her head under the water for emphasis.

"Where is the ship? The _Lorelei_?" Marcell asked.

Teles pointed over the horizon towards the east, and Marcell's eyes widened. "Your arms," she whispered. She reached out to finger the feathers that hung wet and dripping from Teles' arm, then reached out to Teles' head. She stroked the long black hair that had silver layered into it like the patterns upon some falcons. "You're a Siren," she said.

Teles nodded.

"That's why you can't speak." Teles nodded again, her smile gone. Would Marcell call her ugly and strike off for the shore on her own?

"Thank you," Marcell said. "What you did-" she looked down into the water. "What you did to save me, swimming down there-it was very brave. Thank you."

The Siren smiled, and Marcell asked, "Can we-do you know where the shore is?"

Teles pointed to the east and a little north.

"Can we get there by swimming?"

Teles shook her head. It was a long swim, and she didn't think that swimming there would be possible. Flying, yes, because she could fly faster and farther than most sea-birds, but swimming would be difficult, and there was no guarantee that they would make it.

She held her arms out of the water and shook them hard to try to shake some of the water out. Her feathers were naturally water-resistant and water repellant, so when they were in the air, water began running out of them in droves, but it was tiring holding them out for so long. She risked a little magic to dry her feathers out where they hung out of the water, but she couldn't hold them out for long. She was about to drop back into the water, exhausted, when arms came around her from behind. Marcell's voice was warm in her ear. "If I hold you out of the water a little, can you dry your wings off enough to get airborne?"

Teles nodded.

"Good."

Marcell's arms tightened and lifted, and Teles found herself far enough out of the water so that her spell could take full effect. She strengthened the magic, and her wings were soon dry enough to get herself into the air. Without even speaking, Marcell seemed to understand what Teles needed to get airborne, and she braced her thighs beneath Teles' feet with each kick she was using to keep them afloat. Teles lurched down and braced, then launched herself skyward. She pumped her wings until she was a few feet above the ocean, then a dozen, and with each wingbeat her wings were drier and she felt stronger. Sirens were meant to live in the air.

Below her, Marcell was watching with an open mouth, and Teles nodded at her own feet, then clenched them.

"You want me to grab your ankles?" Marcell asked.

Teles nodded and smiled, and then aimed turning towards the east.

Marcell shrugged, a graceful movement even in the water, and held her arms up.

Teles flew higher and a little far, then turned and dove for the water. Marcell grabbed her ankles as she passed, and though the weight was initially unbearable, Teles found a rhythm that would work for the added weight of her passenger. She arrowed towards the shore. Below her, Marcell was looking both amazed and faintly ill. "I hate flying," Marcell yelled above the rush of wind. "Even when I was on the back of a flying horse I hated it, and it was a hell of a lot more secure than this, but flying with you doesn't make me feel as sick."

_And it shouldn't_, Teles thought primly. _I have more of a care than a Hunt steed ever would_.

She kept flying, eyes fixed firmly on the horizon. It took almost an hour of flying, and the sun had long set, but the shore soon came into view, and Teles thought she would faint with relief. By that time they were skimming above the surface of the ocean, and her muscles were trembling with exhaustion. Marcell let go of Teles' ankles above the sand, and Teles dropped to the sand soon after, unable to stay in the air any longer. As she knelt in the sand, shaky with exhaustion and feeling almost delirious with relief, the idea that she had just saved the woman who might be her perfect match was far from her mind. Instead, all she could think about was the pleasure that she was _safe _and on solid land again. Warm hands came down upon her shoulders, and her trembling stopped for just a moment. "You risked a lot to save me," Marcell said above her. "I've never seen you before, so I know I don't know you. You're not trying to curry favor with me, and you risked your life to save a woman you don't even know."

Teles felt a stab of guilt. She actually _was _trying to gain Marcell's attention and her respect, but when Marcell had put it that way, it made her feel ashamed that a false storm had been necessary. Who was she to try and save the day when her actions had caused the risk to Marcell's help in the first place? She was no hero.

Marcell laughed. "I don't even know your name, but looking at you, I think it's the one thing I would like to know above everything else."

The Siren nodded, looking unhappily at the sand. There was nothing to write with, and her feet weren't dexterous enough to scratch her name out.

"If I ever see you again, if you can speak without bewitching me," Marcell said, all traces of laughter gone, "I would thank you."

Teles nodded and smiled. She pulled a wing across to her chest and bowed. Down the beach, a tall, lean figure was running beleagueredly over the sand. Her sharp eyes recognized the sharp face and brown eyes from Jolim's descriptions. Time for her to go.

"You know who I am?" Marcell asked, and Teles nodded. She pointed at the figure running towards them. "Digory," Marcell whispered, and turned, and Teles took her chance.

She launched herself into the air and back over the ocean, though her muscles were screaming the entire time. She looked back at Marcell, who was bear-hugging Digory, and anguish filled her. Marcell hadn't even noticed that she was gone yet. But she would. A favorable wind came at her back, and she felt as light as a feather. Her body was still aching fiercely, but she knew the Sea Witch was helping her. She flew west and a little south towards the Sea Witch's island, and the shore vanished behind her. _Soon_, she promised herself. _Soon I will see Marcell again. _

#

"Digory!" Marcell was so shocked upon seeing her best friend, that she briefly forgot the Siren.

Digory pounded over the sand, relief clear in her eyes, and she didn't even hesitate before pulling Marcell into a hug. "Who's your friend?" she asked, and Marcell pulled away.

"Digory," said, wondering at the strangeness of it. "This is-this is-" and she was turning to introduce the Siren when she realized the folly of her ways. She stared at empty air. "She's gone," she whispered.

"Was that a Siren?" Digory asked, staring out onto the twilit sea.

"You don't sound very surprised," Marcell noted dryly.

"I've been places that you can't even begin to imagine," Digory said.

"I can't wait to hear about them," Marcell said, but even she knew that she didn't sound overly enthusiastic.

The Siren was gone, and Marcell didn't even know her name. The Siren had spent a good hour flying them to shore, and it had been painfully obvious that she had been ready to drop, but she had fled at the first sign of anyone else. What had she been afraid of? She hadn't said a word the entire time, and Marcell knew why: the song of the Siren enchanted sailors to their doom; they would steer their ship to wreck upon the rocks of their island, but no one Marcell had ever seen had seen a Siren; they were just a legend. But one had come in the flesh to save Marcell from certain death, and she hadn't opened her mouth once. Why hadn't she tried to bewitch Marcell? Surely a king would be a fearsome prize for a Siren. And no sailor had ever described their eyes as being beguiling, but while hanging beneath the Siren, Marcell had realized that they might have been just as enchanting as the Sirens' voices were alleged to be. Those ebony eyes, which had been so inhuman and yet at the same time seemed to know Marcell and everything she was and could be, had also seemed so terribly sad.

Was it odd that she should be attracted to a Siren? Men had leapt off their ships for them, and all of the legends about them, good or ill, had painted them as beautiful women. But her voice. . . could Marcell risk being ensnared by a Siren's voice? Perhaps they could work some other way of communication out, like some kind of sign language, since the Siren obviously couldn't hold a pen.

Marcell felt a sinking in her heart as she searched the sky for any signs of her rescuer. _She can't be gone_, she thought, but there was no hint of the Siren in any direction. She hadn't said anything, but she realized that the Siren had been the woman she had dreamt of, and there was a sweet ache in her heart. She had wanted a partner, someone who could care for herself the way Jill could, and the Siren seemed to fill that role adequately. Perhaps this hadn't been a chance meeting, but Marcell could think of only one way to flush the Siren out into the open. In the past, kings and queens of Thenalium had held balls to find their _inamorata_. At least in this she could follow precedence, and it was something that the Council wouldn't fight her on.

_If I do this_, Marcell thought, _if I invite everyone, she'll have to come. There's no way she won't._

"I want-I want to throw a ball," said Marcell.


	6. Chapter Six

Cormorants. Black cormorants flying like shadows against an impossibly blue sky. Teles woke with her heart pounding, feeling helplessly adrift. White bone made up the walls, and the clean lines of dead coral served as tables. What room was this?

The Sea Witch's island. Her home in the middle of the field of sea-flowers.

Teles sat up and winced as her aching body reminded her of how much she had abused it yesterday. Gods. Now she remembered. She had collapsed upon arriving at the Sea Witch's island, and clearly the woman had put her in bed. She pulled herself out of the bed, pushing aside the gauzy bedclothes. Her feet hit the floor with a hard thump, and they felt ridiculously pulled out. Marcell's weight had been a little more than she had expected, and now she was paying for it. She limped away from the bed and through the doorway to find the Sea Witch.

She found the woman bent over the silver cauldron from the day before. "Sea Witch?" she said hestitatingly. The woman turned and smiled.

"You are awake," she said.

"Yes," Teles said, uncertain of what else to say.

"And you saved the king," she added and Teles nodded. "Now you want the rest of the bargain."

"I do," Teles said.

"It will be painful," said the Sea Witch. "And as I said yesterday, it will bring you much sorrow. You will never be able to return to the sea as a Siren again." Her deep voice was soothing, reminding Teles of all of the things she had left behind on Sirenuse: her sisters, her vivarium, the services of Jolim.

But it wasn't enough. Teles didn't want to be an outsider at home; she wanted to seek her fortune in the world beyond, and find someone who would love her for herself and what she liked. And she had at least found Marcell, who respected her just a little.

Teles was only pensive for a few moments before she nodded. "I'll do it," she said quietly.

"Are you sure?" asked the Sea Witch.

Teles nodded, and the Sea Witch smiled. She handed Teles a small glass vial. "Fly to the shore near the castle," she said. "When you are well-concealed, drink this. It will change your appearance into one that is more human, but you will not be able to speak."

Teles smiled bitterly. She wasn't surprised; the cost of one of the Sea Witch's potions was never anything that could be paid through money or any form of currency. She took the vial and tucked it into her special bag. "Will it be painful?"

"Oh yes," said the Sea Witch, "but it will forever remove the need for you to be careful about uttering any sound around Marcell, and you shall have other means of communication." She held up Teles' wings. "These shall become human hands, and you will be able to write with them."

At least that would be some form of relief. Teles didn't think she would be able to live with no way to communicate with others. "You will also be able to remain in this form until Marcell kisses you, and then you will go back to your old appearance as you are now. She will have to decide whether she is enamored enough of you to find you attractive as a Siren as well as a human."

"And then?"

"And then the potion will take its own way," the Sea Witch said. "It is different every time, and even I cannot predict how it will go."

Teles nodded. She well understood the chances she was taking with the Sea Witch's potion, but to gain her heart's desire, wouldn't it be worth the risk?

"All I can do now is wish you luck," said the Sea Witch. "I have given you a favorable headwind to speed your journey to shore."

Unsure of what else she could say, Teles tried to put her feelings into her eyes. She smiled one last time at the Sea Witch before walking out the door and launching herself into the sky. It was a beautiful day to become human.

When she was close to the shore, she allowed herself a whim and headed north along the shore, towards where she had left Marcell. She soon left what little mainland she thought she recognized from flying Marcell to the shore, and the way grew softer, more lush, and Teles knew without a doubt that she was coming close to Grimmsward, the capital of Thenalium and Marcell's home.

She passed over a garrison, then another, and before long she was flying over more settled land, past farms and towns that choked the sky with the light of fires lit during the day. She avoided these and kept north, until abruptly she found herself above the largest city yet. A large stone castle sat on the eastern edge of the city where it met the ocean, and Teles had a thought that this must be Grimmsward. She came down a little, confident that no one would be able to see her, for these humans had grown never looking up. She was right, for the most part, but Teles soon realized, as arrows filled the sky around her, that these humans had been trained to look both around them _and _up.

An arrow took her in the left shoulder, and her wing seized up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a mist of blood color the sky red. Gods, it _hurt_, but if she stopped pumping her arms, she would fall. She pushed through the pain and kept flying but it hurt so much. She managed to get out of sight of the castle and a little ways down the beach before she started losing height, and the ground had never looked so inviting. The ground came up hard, and she tumbled into the sand. _At least it wasn't wet sand_, she thought absently as she rolled across the beach. She came to a stop lying across a now somewhat smoothed area of bloodstained sand.

Her shoulder hurt a lot, but nothing hurt more than it did, which she supposed was good. She sat up slowly, being very careful not to jar her shoulder. She risked looking at it and noted that the arrow was still in the wound. Gods. Now what? She had never had occasion to remove an arrow from a person-well, from anything-before. How was she supposed to go about it?

She reached up and grasped it gently, and there wasn't a _lot_ of blood coming out. If there was, it probably would have meant that she'd punctured an artery. She remembered that from Jolim's stories, the archers that served in Thenalium's standing army used leafpoints, so she wouldn't do more damage pulling it out. She got a good grasp on the slippery, blood soaked shaft and pulled. Her lips clamped around a scream as it came free easily, and she threw it down on the sand in disgust. The wound in her shoulder was still bleeding sluggishly, and she realized that she probably needed a healer of some sort to see to it.

There was no one else on the beach, and as she looked around, she realized that no one would probably be on the beach for a while, which could most likely only benefit her. No one would want to help a Siren, and she knew what sailors called her kind. _Scourge of the seas_, for what the sailors thought they did to their captives. Apparently the legend went that they ate the sailors that came to them, which was most certainly not true! They became servants, yes, but not dinner.

The goad that she wouldn't get help unless she looked more human drove her, and she made her decision. Teles shook out the bag on her shoulder, and the Witch's vial dropped onto the sand. She braced it between her feet and pulled out the stopper with her teeth, then downed the contents. It tasted like water, but it slid down her throat like ice. She stood in confusion for a minute, and the pain throbbing in her shoulder was the only thing that felt out of the ordinary.

Then she coughed, and unexpectedly couldn't stop coughing. She started hacking, and that was when the pain in her throat started. It began as a ripping feeling and then built to a searing pain until she was doubled over on the sand on her knees, retching. Her arm was still bleeding, but the pain of it now had competition from the blade working its way around the inside of her throat.

A knife seemed to run over the soles of her feet, and then it felt like she'd dipped her feet in acid. It was as if some mad carver had been given license to practice on her feet, and she couldn't turn her head to watch because she was too busy trying to cough out the razors in her throat.

At last, the pain in her feet seemed to ease, but just as that stopped being a focus of her consciousness, an invisible taxidermist began skinning her arms. Teles would have screamed at the agony of it, but she had no voice left to scream with. She kept coughing, kept hacking, until it felt like she was trying to cough up her stomach.

Two small, flat pieces of flesh worked their way out of her throat and into her mouth, and she spat them out. They were bloody gobbets upon the sand-her vocal cords. Around them was a flurry of soft brown, and Teles realized that it was her feathers. She reached out to touch them, and gripped them in new hands, soft and supple with flesh she hadn't had before. Her fingers clenched the feathers in her hands until the pain stopped, and she was left gasping with the respite.

Shakily, she stood on her new feet, and it felt as though she was walking on knives. She fell onto her back and the pain stopped. She pushed herself up with her new hands, and those didn't hurt. Provided she could get to somewhere that had people, she could probably find help now. Her legs were shaky as she stood up, and her feet screamed blinding agony at her, but it seemed less than it had a moment ago.

Step by step, she made her slow way across the sand, and the pain lessened with every step. She was sweating and gasping by the time she stopped, but she could walk now on her bare human feet. She went back to where she had become human and gathered up all of the larger feathers that she could find and put them in her special bag.

She took a few steps away from the remnants of her life as a Siren, and then the pain of her shoulder seemed to come back and hit her in the shoulder like a sledgehammer, the pain was like the shower of sparks from the blow of an iron against a forge. Mercifully, she blacked out.

#

Her shoulder still hurt quite a lot, but her arm was hard to move, and since she couldn't move it the cut muscles in her shoulder didn't pull as much as they had before. She opened her eyes. The sky was black above, with only the great sprawl of the cosmos above giving light. Something red and yellow flickered in the corner of her vision, and she turned her head. Whatever it was was hot and dry against her left side, and Teles supposed it must be a fire.

A face that was quite familiar by that point swam into view above her head, and Teles thought she must be dreaming. A fire was burning merrily a few feet away, and she was bundled up under a heavy coat. She risked a look beneath the makeshift blanket and saw that her shoulder was heavily bandaged, and it didn't hurt quite so much anymore. Her arm was also bound tightly against her side, and she realized that that was why she hadn't been able to move it.

Across the fire, a pensive-looking Marcell was intently poking the fire, and it roared higher.

"Hello," Marcell said. "I've been looking for you for quite some time."


	7. Chapter Seven

_I've been looking for you. _Teles fought to conceal her shock, and she shrugged.

"You know who I am, don't you?" Marcell asked. Teles mimed picking up a crown and putting it on her head, and Marcell smiled. "You do."

Teles tried to push the coat off and get up, but Marcell leaned around the fire and pushed the coat back down. "Not right now," she said. "You were in shock when I found you, and it's only been a few hours."

Teles spared a quick glance down the beach. No one else was visible, and she turned back to Marcell. The woman was still staring into the fire. "I didn't think you'd come back," she said.

Teles felt lost. What was she supposed to do? This wasn't how she'd planned meeting Marcell as a human, unconscious and bleeding on a beach. How had Marcell even found her?

As if Marcell had heard her, she spoke. "I've been taking rides down this beach," she said. "Down the beach in both directions. I've been hoping you'd come back, but there was no sign of you. And then-I found you lying on the sand, but you didn't look like you anymore. Your-" she took a breath. "Your feathers were gone, and so were your feet. You're human now."

Teles raised her hands to her face, felt the differences there. Where her mouth had been wide before, it was now shorter, and her lips were fuller. Her tongue played along the inside of her mouth, and her sharp, useful teeth were gone.

"It wasn't obvious at first," Marcell explained. "You didn't look like you. I thought-I thought you were just some strange woman on the beach with an arrow wound in your shoulder."

Teles moved her hand up to feel the bandage. It felt wet, though the bandage was still white. "It wasn't a nice wound," Marcell said. "I bandaged it for you."

Teles smiled at her, and Marcell continued. "You're not speaking," she said. "I think that made it clear for me."

Teles opened her mouth and tried to speak, tried to say anything, but all that emerged from her mouth was the sound of a weak breath. She tried yelling, screaming, but the noise only got louder. She was truly mute.

At that, Marcell looked disappointed. "Maybe I was wrong," she muttered. "Are you the Siren that rescued me?"

Teles thought for a second. Perhaps it would be better if she mimed in the negative, and Marcell got to know her as her, not as a hero. She shook her head, and Marcell's face dropped, and she looked absolutely dejected. "You're not? Truly?"

Teles shook her head again, wishing that she hadn't felt the need to lie. Marcell fell silent again, and moved to the other side of the fire, closer to the sea. Teles tried to read her face in the starlight, but all she could see were flickering shadows from the fire.

She stared out at the stars over the ocean, counting the ones that fell. Hours passed, and she was at sixteen when Marcell spoke again. "I'll bring you back to Grimmsward in the morning-that's my home-the Guard knows that I planned on spending the night out here. Why don't you try and sleep?"

Teles nodded and then turned her gaze back up to the sky. She didn't feel much like sleeping. After a time, she heard Marcell shift onto her side in the sand, and she watched through slitted eyes as Marcell's eyes drifted shut and her face relaxed in sleep. Teles waited until she was sure Marcell was really asleep, then shucked off the coat and looked at it-really _looked_ at it for the first time-to see if it was what she thought it was. Marcell's coat, heavy with its own grandeur and stiff with embroidery. Now she knew why the woman was sleeping in shirtsleeves on the beach in October.

Even though she was sure Marcell was asleep, she was guarded as she bent her face to the fabric and inhaled the scent clinging to the heavy fabric. Mint, lavender, sandalwood and cedar were a bouquet in the fabric, and Teles thought she could grow to love this smell. She looked across the sand at the sleeping king, and though the fire remained hot, it was smoldering down and would surely be burned out by morning. Marcell would be cold during the night, and she had no coat to keep her warm. Teles dragged herself around the fire until she was beside Marcell, and then she lay down beside her and draped the coat over them both. It was barely wide enough, but Teles didn't want to push things by wrapping herself around Marcell.

When she finally let herself sleep, she dreamed of chasing Marcell through a glittering throng that never let her get through.

She woke in the morning cold beneath the tepid light of the rising sun. Marcell wasn't within sight, and the fire had burned down to ashes. Teles pushed the coat off and sat up. The wind was blowing in off the sea, and it seemed far colder than it had once upon a time. When she was a Siren, the wind hadn't bothered her quite so much. Now. . .

Teles put her hand on the wood, then into the remains, and they were cold. She shivered reflexively. She felt as though she'd never be warm again.

Abruptly, the heavy coat was draped around her shoulders again. "I told you not to take it off," Marcell said from behind her. Her hands tightened on Teles' shoulders, and they were warm even through the thick cloth. Teles clutched it shut. The wool robe seemed too thin to provide any real warmth, and she wanted someone to warm her. Preferably Marcell. "Come on," the king said. She nodded toward a small assemblage of soldiers leading horses over the sand towards them. The formation stopped at a signal from the captain, and as one they saluted Marcell.

"Majesty, we are here to escort you and your guest back to the castle," the captain said.

Marcell nodded, then gestured Teles forward. The captain helped her up onto one of the riderless horses, and after Marcell had mounted the other one, the soldiers mounted too, and they set off. Once off the sand, there was a low path of packed sand that wound through the dunes, and they traveled swiftly upon it. They rode for long stretches, passing small fishing hamlets that seemed almost deserted, and Teles realized that most of the villagers were probably out on the ocean, trawling and dropping nets. Teles watched the gulls flying overhead and listened to their cries. She knew what they were excited about: fish and the occasional piece of trash that had fallen off the back of a wagon. Their wings appeared to move effortlessly, but Teles knew from experience how much control it took to hover in the air, keeping a sharp eye out for something attention-grabbing down below. What had she lost by becoming human?

It wasn't long before they entered the outskirts of Grimmsward, passing under a massive stone arch that opened up a long wall that had blocked Teles' view, and she took a sharp breath. She had never seen so many people crowded together before, and though the city was clearly larger than Sirenuse, it had exponentially more people, and it was more developed. There were buildings of stone and wood everywhere, built to accommodate the incline of the street, which sloped upward toward the castle in the middle of the city. It angled back and forth in a long spiral that ended at the castle, and Teles appreciated that it was mainly for defense, even though the outer layers of the city hadn't followed that initial design and wound crazily about.

The sea breeze blew through the streets, and Teles wrinkled her nose at the smell of it. The scent of filth and dust was carried on the wind, and Teles wondered what it was like to live in this city, to have to inhale that smell all day, every day. She realized that if she stayed with Marcell, she would have to smell it every day, and the thought bothered her. How could anyone live like this? There had to be ways to clean the city and keep it so. It would be healthier for the city, and keep the odor down as an added benefit.

They rode into the very heart of the city, and it was there that the streets leveled out. A wall rose before them, more heavily armed than the other one had been, and Marcell dismissed the soldiers at the gate. She led Teles on her horse along a broad avenue lined with small trees with cascading branches and colorful yellow flowers. Teles reached out and grasped one slim branch and gently ran her hand down it. A spill of small, soft flowers followed her grip, and her fingers caught something small and squashy, which stuck to her skin, and she raised it to her face. Marcell never looked back, so Teles had time to examine it. 'It' turned out to be a small lime-green caterpillar with yellow and black accents, and it clung to her skin like a bit of sticky fruit. She didn't want to hurt it by pulling it off, but she didn't want to bring her unexpected passenger to wherever they were going, either. She reined in her horse and reached out to a new yellow tree, and she pressed the leaves between her fingers, close to the caterpillar. It crawled off, and she watched it go, smiling.

"Hey!" Marcell called from up ahead. The woman was at the end of the tunnel of trees, waving. Teles let go of the tree and urged her horse ahead. The trees seemed to blow by in a breeze made of yellow flowers and green leaves. She joined Marcell, and they turned into a courtyard with a large white fountain in the middle. In the center of the fountain stood a statue that had been carved of a single block of black marble. It was a faceless woman dressed in a stylish combination of formal robes and armor. The armor had been crafted of bronze and had turned a matte blue-green. Teles stared as they passed it, with an eye for detail and the contrast between the cyan of the bronze and the black of the marble. She noticed how it could be accented with showy lotus flowers in the pond and moss on the unpolished surfaces of the statue

A tall stone wall loomed up beside the courtyard, and Teles let her eyes follow it up to where it ended, but it didn't loom over the courtyard like she thought most castles would. Instead it rose only a few stories above them, and then Teles guessed it spread away to the north and east.

She followed Marcell to a small wooden door, and trailed her further as she hurried up a flight of stone stairs to another wooden door at the top. Marcell pushed through the door, and a horde of strangers in livery surrounded them. They whisked Marcell off, and several of them stared at Teles, clearly unsure of what to do with her. "She's my guest," Marcell called. "Treat her as such!"

A flurry of servants surrounded Teles and hustled her down a wood paneled hall and into a grand room that was furnished sparsely with dark wooden furniture and bright wall hangings. The open doors to the balcony on the other side of the room looked out onto a view of the Star Ocean, and the wind off the sea swirled into the room, bringing with it the brackish scent of the sea and the tangy odor of the kelp that adorned the beaches. Teles inhaled, and it was all she could smell. No scent of decay from the city below, and no scent of dust or perfume, either. She drew closer to the windows, and even close to the walls, there was only the barest scent of old wood, dark with age and shiny from the rub of heavy curtains. Teles knew that if she stayed, she would never use the curtains to block the sea or the wind.

Teles turned and eyed the servants, and they stared back. What was she supposed to do now? Clearly they didn't have any idea. It probably wasn't every day that the king dragged a strange woman with an arrow wound in her shoulder back to Grimmsward from the beach.

She smiled at them. One woman gave a grateful grin back, and so did some of the other servants. "Do you speak, Lady?" the woman asked. Her brown hair was tied back in a smart bun, and her clothes appeared to be a little better quality than the other servants, and Teles supposed she was in charge.

Teles shook her head and brought her hands to her throat. The woman _tsk_ed. "Shame," she said, and approached Teles carefully. "May I take your bag?" she asked, holding out a hand. Teles looked down. As shameful as it might seem, she had forgotten her magic leather bag, and she clutched it close. She shook her head at the woman.

"I won't look inside, Lady, I swear," the woman promised. And why should she? Teles reasoned. She was a servant in the home of a king. Surely punishments waited for nosy servants who pried into the belongings of a guest of the king.

Reluctantly, she handed the bag over, and the woman smiled broadly. "Now, let's get you cleaned up and get that shoulder looked at."

Within minutes Teles found herself flat on her back on the edge of a bed, and a new woman had entered the room. She was dressed in a green tunic and pants, and she had a small bag with her. The woman was now bent over Teles's shoulder, prodding the edges experimentally. "No infection," she observed. "That's good." Teles could have told her that. There was no swelling or redness of the skin around the hole in Teles' shoulder, and it wasn't hot to the touch. Still, it was good to have someone who knew more about medicine than Teles did herself checking the injury. The woman took a small vial of something clear from her bag and uncapped it, then without a word poured it into the wound. It carried a sharp, burning sensation into Teles' shoulder, and it began to bubble.

The healer laid hands on Teles' shoulder, and she became abruptly aware of a tingling sensation deep in her shoulder. It spread to the wound's opening, and Teles tried to crane her neck to watch. The wound seemed to be closing on its own, filling in with new flesh and scar tissue. The liquid was being pushed out, and it ran down Teles shoulder onto the towel below. A tiny amount of pus beaded on the skin around the wound, and when the woman wiped it away with her thumb, the skin beneath sealed. The tingling eased, and the woman drew her hands away. Teles prodded it, and it didn't hurt at all. The healer lifted Teles' arm straight out, then higher and then straight up.

"Any pain?" she asked. Teles shook her head, smiling. "Thank you," she mouthed, and the woman smiled. "Good. You need to sleep now."

Teles hadn't been feeling exactly energized before, but now she felt worn to the point of collapsing. She barely had the energy to help the healer hold her arm up. "I used your own energy to heal you," the woman said. "You would have used this much energy to heal over time; I just sped it up a little. Don't push yourself too hard for the next few days, and try not to raise your arm past your shoulder until the end of the week." She picked up her bag and walked out, and the servants converged on Teles again.

She found herself summarily stripped of her brown robe and put into a hot, steaming bath. She sank into it wishing she could still moan happily. The hot water was doing wonders for her stiff muscles, and she reflected muzzily that a hot bath should be in order every day in the fall, winter, and whenever it was cold out. In lieu of feathers to keep her warm and blood that sang quickly and hotly through her veins, hot water would do very nicely. She fell asleep in the tub, chin on her chest, and barely stirred when the servants hauled her out of the tub and bundled her into the large bed in the other room.


	8. Chapter Eight

Teles woke to the tepid rays of the setting sun striking through the open window. She heard nothing but silence in her room, but the window let in the sounds of the city. She could hear the distant voices of people talking and laughing and fighting and hawking, far off in the city downhill from the castle. She supposed she was lucky that her room looked out on the sea and only the sea. The castle was close enough to the shore that the smell of the city didn't quite reach her room, and she pitied those who lived in rooms that looked out onto the city. She supposed the fact that the breeze came in fairly evenly and constantly off the ocean helped. She stumbled out of bed and walked over to the window. Truly, there was no scent of the city even here.

In the wash of the orange light on the waves, the ocean appeared to be on fire, and Teles was mesmerized by it. She had never thought to see the Star Ocean from a room in Thenalium, much less the king's castle at Grimmsward.

The door on the other side of the huge room opened, and Teles turned to see several servants in the doorway, led by the woman who had seemed to be in charge from earlier.

They were carrying several bundles with them. Most of it seemed to be rolled cloth, but one servant was carrying ladies' boots that were clearly of several different sizes.

"My name is Madi, Lady," the female servant from before said, curtseying. Teles inclined her head in acknowledgement. Madi then turned and pulled something from the hands of another servant. "Since you can't speak, we thought-well, most of us can't read all that much, but we thought maybe you could write down what you wanted to say, and it might make things easier for you." She held out a stick of graphite and a sheaf of thick paper that had been bound together with leather thongs threaded through holes punched in the paper.

Teles smiled. What clever servants she had! She took the pad and quickly wrote _Thank you_ upon it, and Madi smiled.

"It's no trouble at all," the woman said.

_I thought you couldn't read_, Teles wrote.

"Most of us can't," Madi said. "We were never taught how, and never had much use for it, but I can." She lifted her chin proudly. "I was meant to be the lady-in-waiting for the next queen, but seeing as there is none right now, and King Marcell doesn't want a handmaid, I'll be serving you, her guest."

Teles grabbed her pad and quickly wrote, _Now that I'm awake, what do I do? I've never been the guest of a king before, and I've never been in a city this size, either. _

"Generally speaking, you would be expected to dress in the morning-with our help of course-and then have breakfast in your rooms," Madi said. "After that as a guest of the king you would be free to wander the castle. You can go watch the weapons practice, watch the king adjudicate in the throne room, work at your embroidery either here or in the Queen's bower-that's mostly empty, but the noblewomen do go from time to time-or wander the city or the countryside around Grimmsward. It's truly your choice, Lady."

_But what do I do right now?_ Teles wrote. _Is there a dinner or a dance or some affair tonight?_

Madi looked surprised. "Not tonight, Lady. There will be a formal ball a few nights hence. I've heard tell that the king is waiting for some mysterious woman to make an appearance."

Teles nodded. _Who is this woman?_

Madi read the paper and looked clearly uncomfortable at the question. "I'm not sure I should be discussing the king's affairs," she said awkwardly, "but it seems to be common knowledge all about the castle."

Teles smiled encouragingly. _Go on_, she wrote.

"The King was saved by some strange woman on the ocean a few nights ago," Madi said. "Ever since then she's taken to spending nights on the beach both north and south of Grimmsward, and she's throwing a ball just to try to lure the woman out."

_And the woman?_ She wrote. .

"No one else saw her," Madi said. "Only Marcell did-oh, and the Lord Digory-but they don't speak of her. The rumors say that the king was saved by a mermaid or a selkie."

A mermaid or a selkie. How quaint. Tele was neither of those silly creatures.

_Wait, who is Lord Digory?_

"It's a long tale," Madi said, "but Lord Digory was once the Heir to the throne here, but she couldn't take it without the Sword of Thenalium. She found it with the Witch's help-you know, the Witch from the old song about a Witch who was nameless, but she would come in a time of great need, and restore balance to Thenalium once you guessed her name? That Witch-and then decided that she didn't want to be the king anymore. She gave the throne to Marcell and jumped ship. She's been out on the ocean ever since with that Witch, and this is the first time they've been back in years."

_Oh_, Teles wrote. She wanted to go explore the castle. Maybe she could 'accidentally' run into Marcell.

"Lady, would you like to explore the city tonight?" Madi said. "Tonight is the night of Samhain, and there are several religious orders down in the city that will be celebrating the festival. The rest of the city gets caught up in the madness, and it's sure to be fun for those who wish to celebrate it."

_What is the purpose of the festival? _She wrote on her pad.

"It is a harvest festival," Madi explained. "Now is the time when the light half of the year ends and the dark begins."

Teles listened with interest as Madi depicted a festival that celebrated both the harvest and the dead. She detailed how the major houses of worship that observed Samhain would set out a feast, but none but the dead could touch it until after the hour of three in the morning. The food would then be given as alms to the poor. Bonfires would also be lit around the city in areas large enough to hold them without fear of starting a citywide fire, and all other lights indoors in the city would be extinguished, so the spirits of the dead would only seek out the light of the bonfires and not be trapped inside homes. The people of the city would mostly be wearing masks and costumes to blend in with the spirits. Madi described the act of walking through a crowd of masked, rarely silent revelers that whirled and spun in the rhythms of dance as being occasionally terrifying but oddly fun.

It was Madi's words that convinced Teles to go out, and as the servants dressed Teles in an outlandish dress made of both silk and fur, and she donned the mask of a seal, she had no thought for Marcell.

#

Teles followed Madi about for an early part of the night, trailing the woman from one busy street into the next. She got to look in upon a sumptuous feast laid for the dead, and witnessed brave young people jumping over a bonfire for luck in the coming year. Before she could tap Madi on the shoulder and ask if they could stop for a moment and seek something warm to drink, someone seized her hand and pulled her into an enormous dance that seemed to be comprised entirely of people forming one huge line threading through the crowd and running.

She followed it through the crowd, laughing as she was pulled first one way and then another. The procession dissolved into an unwieldy snake that wound its way through street after street, and Teles knew she was hopelessly separated from Madi. She didn't care. This was far too much fun, and she was giddy with the pleasure of being out and running and interacting with humans, even if they weren't Marcell.

After a time her section of the line broke off and formed a new dance, coiling into a ring that surged inward and then out, fracturing into dancing couples that then reformed the ring and surged in and out, in and out.

Despite the running and dancing keeping her warm, Teles found she still wanted a drink, and pulled free of the dance. She found her way into a full tavern, and-having no money-seized an unattended cup of mulled cider from the edge of a table. It was still warm, and she drank it appreciatively. She meandered back out onto the street, finding the tavern too packed for her tastes, and immediately joined in a dance that consisted solely of watching a designated leader dressed in a rooster costume and trying to dance exactly as the rooster did. When it turned into a couples' romp, a new stranger awaited her.

She danced with a pig, a somberly dressed nobleman with only a domino mask hiding his face, a Horned Man, and several roosters and swans. Then she found herself dancing with a handsomely dressed stranger who wore the long, high-necked coat of a highwayman, and whose face was concealed beneath a black half-mask surmounted by a black leather tricorn hat. She laughed soundlessly in his face, thrilled with the sheer exhilaration of it all. He pulled her close, and his hands were warm in the cold night, even through the sleek fur she wore.

"Have I found you at last, my Siren?" he murmured, and Teles realized with a shock that it was Marcell. _Yes!_ She wanted to shout. _Yes, you've found her!_ But she hadn't brought the pad of paper with her, and she was left looking silently up into Marcell's masked face. She nodded once, and then Marcell was pulling her away into an alley.

It was quieter in the slim space between the bricks, but not by much.

"You still can't speak to me," Marcell said quietly. Teles nodded.

"Then-can you at least smile?" Teles did, gladly, and Marcell pulled down the collar of her coat and looked into Teles' eyes for a long moment. There was a charge in the air, almost like the ocean sky when lightning was lurking about, ready to flash at any given moment.

Then, suddenly, Marcell's arms were around her, and her lips were crushed to Teles' cheek, for Teles had turned aside at the last moment. Marcell's lips moved against her cheek for a moment, and then she was staring into Teles' eyes with an almost panicked look on her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should have asked if it was alright with you-I'm so sorry-please, please forgive me!"

Teles nodded once and rose up on tiptoe. She pressed her lips to Marcell's cheek and then darted away into the crowd. She lost the king in the swirling, gaudy finery of a cotillion, and then she started the long trek back to the castle.

As turned around as she was, it only took a few hours to find her way back, and when she found her way through the door in the courtyard with the black statue, Madi was waiting behind the door at the top of the stairs. "I lost you in the crush," the woman said promptly. "I am so sorry! I looked for you, but I couldn't find you, and then I came back here as soon as I could to see if you'd come back here, and you hadn't." She was on her knees now, and her head was bowed.

"Get up," Teles nodded. "It's alright; anyone could have been lost in that crush. Come now, get up." She hauled Madi off the floor, and Madi curtseyed again deeply. "My apologies, Lady," she said again. "Come, let me help you to your room."

She escorted Teles back to the sumptuous room and helped Teles undress. The fire had burned down to embers and a few small flames, and the air was cold on Teles' skin as it was revealed. The room hadn't been tended by a servant while Teles had been out; clearly most of the servants had been out celebrating Samhain. Madi bundled Teles up in the warm, thick comforter from the bed. The extravagant dress went back where it had come from, and Madi stoked the fire and brought it up to a roar.

Teles fell asleep quickly in the spreading warmth from the fire.

#

Several days passed before Teles began exploring the gardens around the castle. There was a large herb garden outside the kitchen, and Teles had spent most of the morning looking through it.

She found most of the usual herbs like parsley, basil, and green onions, but what surprised her was the corner with white peony, calamus, andrographis, and devil's claw. All of them were medicinal herbs, some had astringent properties, others were pain relievers or could be used as an antiseptic or for a respiratory tract infection.

Teles was surprised to find them here; she hadn't expected to find those herbs anywhere, let alone in a kingdom like Thenalium. Someone here was clearly more than just a normal cook or healer; she would have to find that person.

She spent the rest of the morning gathering moss from odd areas of the gardens; here she found some growing on the loose bark of a tree; there she found some on the ground beneath some bushes. When she had an armful she took her prizes back to a shady corner of the garden that she'd found and began laying out the moss in order with some additives. The moss she'd found on trees she put on the trunk of the large oak tree shading this part of the garden after she spread a thin layer of yogurt on it. She did the same for the moss she was using to cover the large boulder beneath the tree, and by the time the boulder was covered beneath a layer of green moss, she was out of both yogurt and moss, and her hands were sticky.

Bootsteps behind her made her turn, and Teles was abruptly aware that this was _not _her property. She raised her eyes to see Marcell surveying her work, and Teles was horrified. She scrabbled for her pad and wrote, _Majesty, I am sorry if this offends you._ She held it up for Marcell's inspection.

The king smiled unexpectedly. "It's fine," she said. "I actually quite like the moss. I wasn't aware it could be used to accent gardens."

_Most people don't, Majesty,_ Teles scribbled. _Where I come from, I was the only one who enjoyed such things. _

"Ah," Marcell said. "The classic misunderstood child."

Teles smiled, pleased that she understood so quickly.

"Come," Marcell said, offering her arm. "I want to show you something."

Teles looked down at her dirty, sticky hands and hesitated.

"I don't care," Marcell said, grabbing Teles' hand. She pulled the Siren to her feet and waited for Teles to wipe her hands off on the old dress she'd specifically requested today so she could explore the gardens and not worry about ruining any borrowed finery. Her hands might look a little cleaner, but Teles still wished for some soap and hot water as the king picked up her hand again and tucked it in the crook of her arm.

Marcell led her through rooms that grew progressively both grander and larger until they stood at last in a huge and impressive room that was full of servants in livery swarming about. They were taking wide velvet curtains from the large windows and rolling them up to take out of the room, and replacing them with fine gauze hangings that let in the light from outside.

"What do you think?" Marcell asked. She was watching Teles carefully as the Siren surveyed the activity in the room.

_It looks nice_, Teles wrote on the pad. She was dismayed to see that despite the coarseness of her dress, she still left a somewhat visible fingerprint on the paper. _Is it for the ball tomorrow night?_

"So you know about the ball," Marcell said. "That's good."

_Why?_ Teles scribbled. She was watching several men attempt to push a large arch festooned with garlands of ivy and yellow roses into place over one of the doors. Despite their best efforts, the arch started to topple and several women rushed over to stabilize it. They shooed the men away and swarmed up ladders on either side of the arch, fastening it to unseen ties on the wall. It remained steady.

"I would like you to come to the ball," Marcell said quietly as they watched the servants bustling about, fixing arrangements of flowers and ribbons and wood around the grand ballroom.

It was exactly what Teles had hoped for, but it wasn't what she had expected, so she wanted to know.

Teles grabbed for her pad. _Why?_ She wrote.

Marcell shrugged. "Because you're my guest, and all of the citizens of Grimmsward and the surrounding areas are invited."

_How are they all to come dressed in finery that many may not have the money for?_ Teles asked.

"We will be raiding the storehouses of any and all grand dresses and ballgowns that no one wears now, and they will be open to all who wish to wear them," Marcell said. "The former Heir's mother is dead, and there is no queen or princess who might wish to make use of the dresses. They take up space now, anyhow, so we might as well loan them out."

Teles smiled. _Of course I will come_, she wrote. _How can I refuse the request of a king?_

Something very like pain crossed Marcell's face. "Please," she said. "I'm not-this isn't the request of King Marcell, Monarch of Thenalium. The person who is asking you to come to the ball is just Marcell." A small grin touched her lips. "Just Marcell, who captained the _Witch's Name _and who once rode a horse of the Wild Hunt."

Teles wrote, _I can live with that. I will accept your offer, Marcell. _

Just then, a tall burly man approached with a long list in his hand. "Majesty," he said. "The Council has requested that I bring a list of noblewomen to you for your examination."

Marcell gritted her teeth and turned to Teles. "I'm sorry, but I must adjourn for now. I will see you at the ball," she said. She lifted Teles' hand to her lips and kissed the back of it, and when Teles drew her hand back slowly, Marcell smiled at her, nodded, and followed the burly man out of the ballroom.

Teles left the room and wandered back up to her rooms to clean up, mind working furiously. She had agreed to go to the ball, had even been invited by Marcell herself! But what could she wear?

She called out to Madi when she entered the room, and the servant approached. "Lady?" she asked.

_Marcell just invited me to the ball_, Teles wrote. _What do I wear?_ She showed the pad to Madi, and the woman's eyes widened.

"Bless me!" she exclaimed. "I suppose we'll have to find something. I know they were opening the old storerooms, so I can go down and look for something suitable for you in there."

_Please_, Teles wrote. The sooner she knew what she was wearing, the better. The added benefit was that the sooner Madi went, the lesser the chance was that someone else would get the best gowns or the most grand ones, and Teles wanted her pick of them. It wouldn't do to walk in looking like a peasant. No, she had to get Marcell's attention, keep it, and somehow manage to communicate that she was in truth the Siren. This was her time to tell the truth, to come out to Marcell. All she could hope was that Marcell wouldn't be too angry.

An hour later saw Teles nearly wailing with despair. There were paper-wrapped bundles strewn across the bed, each of them holding an unsuitable dress.

Madi gestured at the female servants holding more dresses out for Teles to pick from, and Teles stared at each in misery. None of them was fit for a Siren, let alone a Siren who was going to shed her covering as a human and come out as the hero who save the king!

The servants presented striking dresses and haughty gowns for her perusal, but Teles didn't like any of them. The blue one that Madi was holding out was too ornate, and seemed almost a joke. The black one next to it seemed imperious somehow, as though it commanded anyone who saw it to behold its beauty and marvel. Teles smothered what would have been a groan of frustration-none of these dresses were what she was looking for!

"Lady," Madi said wearily. "Maybe I should go back down to the storehouses and see if I missed something."

Teles nodded and motioned that it was alright. Madi left and took the servants with her, each bearing multiple paper-wrapped packages that Teles had deemed unbefitting.

How she wished she could still scream!

A whisper of breeze came in off the sea and swirled through the room. It rustled along nothing, for there were no papers for it to riffle through aside from Teles' pad, which was out of its reach beneath her hand. It moved along the edges of the room, apparently seeking something, and Teles realized that this was no ordinary wind. It had to be some mystical helper, probably sent by the Sea Witch to help her!

She followed the breeze around the room with her eyes, listening for its knock upon the walls, and its creak in the furniture. It seemed to stop at a certain table, which held only one thing-her magical bag! She fetched it and brought it back to the bed, sure that the bag would hold something useful. But what had she put in it that might still be there? Bits of broken-off coral? Seeds? Empty chrysalides that she had found particularly striking?

Teles reached inside her bag and touched something soft and gauzy. She pulled it out, and a long spill of brown cloth followed her hand out of the bag. She shook it out and smiled when it revealed itself to be a silken gown unlike any dress she had ever seen. It gave the impression of feathers without actually having any fabric cut into feathers or patterned as such. She found jewelry at the bottom of the bag, and those were brown pearls and colorless diamonds that winked in the sun, casting tiny rainbows onto the walls. A bracelet, a few hair ornaments, and earrings that sparkled like stars filled her hand, and she smothered a gasp. These must have been salvaged from lost wrecks at the bottom of the ocean. She spared a quick blessing for her helper. _Thank you, Sea Witch_. The black-touched brown feathers that she had put into the bag fell into her hand too, and she had a good idea of what she would do with them.


	9. Chapter Nine

The dress was simple without looking like it hadn't been ornamented at all, and Teles found herself drawn to it again and again the day before the ball. She stroked her fingers down the folds of the wide skirt, marveling at the design.

"It _is_ a very pretty gown," Madi had admitted, when Teles gave her the excuse that Marcell had sent it. "I've never seen this particular stitching pattern or seam style, though. I wonder where she found it?"

Teles had shrugged. What was she to say, that someone who-as far as Madi was concerned didn't exist-had designed the dress and provided it to her, and oh by the way, she had a magic bag that had held it up to this point? That would never do. So she lied again and said that Marcell had supplied the beautiful dress. The excuse would hold as long as Madi asked Marcell, and why should she?

Dusk approached early in the day, and Teles approached Madi only a little early to begin preparing. True to form, Madi had a hot back waiting, laced with bath salts and scented oils. Teles let Madi wash her entirely, and she sat in front of the hotly stoked fire as Madi brushed her long black hair out until it was dry. Teles was delighted with how smooth and glossy it was, and she said so. Madi looked pleased, and then she pulled out the small basket that held the hair ornaments and jewelry. "Now I'll start on your hair."

Teles waited patiently while Madi pulled and tugged sections of her hair up and around. She felt small plaits being worked into her hair, and warned Madi, _Don't make it too fancy. I'm trying to look sophisticated, not like I'm screaming for attention. _

Madi laughed and drew some more of Teles' hair into place. "Don't worry, I won't. I'm just weaving your hair into a few smooth knots with some braids to make it a little more elegant. The hair ornaments you gave me will ornament it like jewels in a coronet."

Teles preened a little at the idea, and relaxed into Madi's hands. Within a little time, Madi had pronounced her hair finished, and was holding up a mirror for Teles to examine herself. Her hair was entwined into a crown upon her brow, and she looked like a princess. But she didn't have any feathers to hint to Marcell. Wordlessly, she handed Madi the feathers, and the woman looked at them and sighed. "I'll work them in."

It took nearly another half of an hour to add the feathers, because Madi had to wind them with silver wire in order to add them to Teles' hair without it looking tawdry. _Then_ she pronounced her hair to be finally, utterly finished.

The dress was as light and easy to move in as she could have desired, and while Teles _could_ have put on her shoes herself, this was a special night, and she bade Madi put them on for her. The woman slipped on the high, soft boots that had been sewn and stamped with a pattern not unlike scales. Teles imagined that it must have been expensive work-or would have been-had she not found them in the bag soon after she'd pulled out the dress and the jewelry.

Madi coated her lips with a dark paint that contrasted well with Teles' golden skin, and she brushed a glittering brown dust over her eyes. Teles had expected more cosmetics, but Madi said that she looked fine without overdoing it, and then decreed that Teles was ready. She escorted Teles down the hall, then down several staircases that Teles hadn't yet seen. They crossed a grand hall full of impressively garbed people and stopped at the other side. Two richly dressed guards stood at attention there and managed to look both impassive and waiting for orders at the same time. They guarded an imposing pair of wooden doors bound in age-tarnished silver that was worked in a pattern of cranes, and Madi said, "This is where I leave you. If you go through these doors, there will be another, larger set, and the ball is on the other side. There will be servants to open it, and a herald to announce you. I have done all I can to make you perfect for this night." She kissed Teles on her unadorned cheek and left.

Nervous but determined, Teles nodded at the guards, and they opened the doors in unison as though they had been training for months to do their duties in synchronization. More and grander people waited in this hall, and Teles breezed through them like royalty. The guards on the far set of doors opened at a dip of Teles' head, and the herald glanced at her and banged his staff against the floor loudly. Several people looked up, and he declared in a ringing voice, "Her Ladyship, the guest of Her Majesty King Marcell!" _That_ got the attention of more people near the door, and Teles found herself on the receiving end of the interest of most of the crowd. There was music playing in the background, and it didn't stop as Teles walked into the room. She felt the pressure of many eyes on her, but she kept her chin up and ignored it. She carried herself like she was a princess herself, and she strode through the throng nearest the door and moved onward. She kept moving, kept walking, and made her way around the dance floor to the other side.

The ball was as grand as Teles had wished it to be. The great hall was a far cry from what it had been before; now the walls were decked out in blue and green drapes, and golden chandeliers and candelabras held fat yellow candles that flickered and moved with a slow, heavy light. A glittering throng of richly dressed courtiers and citizens of the realm, dressed in their very best, filled the room. Teles tried not to stare at the fine settings on the table; tried to act nonchalant at the sight of the hammered golden plates and wrought silver cutlery.

Several courtiers surrounded the area of floor around where Marcell sat on a relatively simple throne upon a low dais. The man who had interrupted them yesterday stood at Marcell's side, whispering something in her ear. Her eyes lit upon Teles, and they widened. She waved the man off and rose from the throne. Murmuring began behind Teles, but Marcell was already descending from the dais. Teles felt very alone in as she stood there, but then Marcell was beside her, offering her richly-clad arm. She caught Teles around the waist and held her in her arms as they spun across the floor.

Teles found she trembled in the king's arms, and though Marcell surely noticed, she said nothing. The room whirled and glittered around them as they danced. Marcell stared into her eyes as she held her. She danced neatly and precisely, with hints of hidden fire that came out as Teles spun out, then in. She remained perfectly silent as they danced, which suited Teles just fine. She hadn't found any way to bring her pad, so the only conversation she could have would be one-sided. Marcell smiled at Teles, and she thought her heart would sprout wings and fly. She might have expected Marcell's hand to be soft like a true noble's from the time Marcell had spent in the Council chambers and ruling Thenalium, but it remained callused from decades of studying swordplay and years of living on a ship and allowing herself no airs when it came to being an active crewmember.

She wished she could say something-anything-and tried to put what she was feeling into her eyes. Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Teles turned her head. The intruder was a tall brunette woman, and her much shorter female partner.

"Mind if we cut in?" the brunette asked with a teasing smile, and Marcell looked at Teles. The Siren reluctantly nodded, and the stranger pulled her out of Marcell's arms and her dark-skinned partner filled Teles' spot like she'd done it before.

"So you're the Siren that Marcell's been talking about," the woman said, and Teles felt herself blanch.

_I wish I could demur_, she thought. _How does she know?_

"It was rather obvious, really," the woman continued. "Marcell said she found a strange woman on the beach with an arrow wound on her shoulder, and when she didn't interview the archers that had been on guard duty on the seaside wall I decided to. It didn't take long to find the archer who was telling stories about shooting a Siren. It was too much of a coincidence. What I _can't _figure out is why you haven't told Marcell who you are yet. She said she's asked you and that you've said that you aren't." Along with the other leading partners in the dance, she spun Teles out, then in, and caught her around the waist. "So why haven't you?"

Teles shrugged and tried to look helpless. If she could speak she probably would have told Marcell already, but she couldn't! And Marcell wasn't even spending that much time with her; she couldn't possibly know that Teles was the Siren who had rescued her.

The woman pulled her close again and whispered in her ear, "She already suspects that you've lied. For whatever reason, you've lied, and it won't make her very happy to know that you could have told her the truth all this time and you haven't. So be truthful this night. Tell her who you are or I will. I am the former Heir of Thenalium. My name is Digory, and I don't lie."

Teles felt herself grow cold. So this was the Digory who Jolim and his ilk had hunted for so long. From his stories, she knew that Digory and Marcell were loyal to each other, and Digory would not lie about this. She would have to tell Marcell everything by the end of the night. "You seem like a nice girl," Digory said. "I know you like plants, and you don't hit your servants. And you rescued Marcell, so you can't be all bad. But mark my words, be honest with Marcell, and be honest tonight."

After a few minutes of tense staring between them, Teles found herself released back into Marcell's arms, and she now knew that the curvy woman Digory was dancing with was Jill, the Witch.

She trusted herself to Marcell's hands again, and for a few sweet moments they danced silently, though Teles noticed that Marcell was looking more and more unhappy, and she became aware that they were moving more and more quickly to the edge of the dance floor towards the servants' entrance. Without warning, Marcell seized her hand and pulled her away from the dancing entirely. They darted around the banquet table and through the door, barely missing several startled servants carrying more food for the table.

Marcell hurried them up a flight of stairs, then turned and pushed through a tapestry-how had she known that was there? Teles wondered absently-and through a closed door onto a small stone balcony that overlooked the gardens. Marcell dropped Teles' hand and turned to look out at the view. Torches atop long straight poles illuminated the garden with bright, flickering light, and the scent of citronella hung heavy in the air, even up here. The king leaned on the barrier that was all that stood between her and a short fall and sighed. "I know I haven't been spending much time around you," she said. "I apologize for that." She turned to look at Teles.

Teles shrugged. What could she say? She didn't have any way to talk with Marcell.

"But there's something-off-about this whole thing," Marcell said quietly. She straightened up. "I just don't feel comfortable with all of this."

Teles cocked her head to one side, then smiled nervously. She shrugged again.

"Are you who I thought you were?" Marcell asked, and Teles felt her heart drop into her feet. "Are you the Siren who rescued me in the middle of the ocean?"

All Teles could do was look away, ashamed. What was there to say? She nodded, and felt Marcell's fingers beneath her chin, lifting gently. "We'll talk later," she said as she looked into Teles' eyes. She leaned in and pressed her mouth to Teles' cheek.

Teles closed her eyes, and felt Marcell's lips soft and warm against her skin. If she turned her head but an inch or two to the left, Marcell's lips would slide across her skin and they could. . .

Then a rush of cool air came between them, and Teles opened her eyes. Marcell was standing back now, silhouetted against the sky, and Teles thought she had never looked so handsome.

She held out her hand and Teles took it, and Marcell pulled her close. "Let's go back," she said, and she led Teles back to the ball.

They danced steadily for the rest of the evening, but the tension between them was so thick Teles thought she could cut it if she had a knife. Neither of them wanted to go on to a new dancing partner even though Marcell was the king, and Teles knew there would be questions tomorrow for the strange woman who had so wholly captured the king's attention.

Several courtiers had left, and the musicians were winding down when Marcell's hand slid up Teles' side to her shoulder. Teles looked up at Marcell's eyes, and the blue was darkening.

Her heart was in her throat and Marcell's hand was warm against her neck as the king bent her head and kissed her.

But there was no time for kissing, because Teles' mouth filled with blood and she spat it out on the floor to make room for the blood that was now welling up from her throat. Her skin was prickling into a burning sensation that spread from her shoulders down her arms, and then from her knees down. Her feet felt like she'd dipped them into boiling water, and she felt the boots ripping like old paper as her feet grew. The corners of her mouth felt like someone had taken a knife to them, and her teeth were cracking and growing. She heard screaming coming from some source she couldn't see, but it wasn't her. Teles cracked her eyes open. Marcell's hands were firm around her upper arms, and they were surrounded by a crowd of dismayed, murmuring courtiers.

Marcell released her and Teles backed away. She spat out a mouthful of blood onto the waxed wood floor and swallowed the rest. Despite the blood, her throat felt dry and broken, and she cleared it. To her surprise, her voice came out over the growl of her throat. She used it. "Marcell," she said. It was her first word since she had lost her voice, and it sounded divine.

"You're. . . you again," Marcell said. Her voice held a tone of surprise. Teles looked down and saw that it was true. Her arms were feathered again, and she knew without looking that her feet had entirely split the boots into shreds of leather and held the appearance of bird talons again. The feathers on her arms matched those hanging from her hair.

"I am." Her voice was held none of the ringing, angelic quality that it once had, but it was back. She could talk to Marcell herself now! She caught Digory and Jill looking at her anxiously from the thick of the crowd surrounding them, and she managed a weak smile for Digory. Several courtiers backed away nervously, and Marcell cursed the fact that her weird mouth had frightened them.

As if Digory had heard the thought, she caught Teles around the arms again. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Teles," Teles said.

"I very much like the way you look, Teles," Marcell whispered.

Teles looked up at her and smiled. Some of her old certainty was back, even in the face of all of this disapproval.

"Prove it," she whispered, and Marcell kissed her again. A cool wind seemed to blow through the room, and it brought with it the laughter of a woman who lived beneath the sea. The wind carried the scent of the sea on it and Teles felt more blood fill her mouth. She tried to swallow it but it was too much, and it spilled from her lips and ran down her chin. Marcell caught some of it in her mouth and swallowed, and Teles felt the blood abruptly stop. She managed to swallow the rest of it and wiped away the last of the blood on her chin. Her feathers remained, and she flexed her toes. The talons dug lightly into the floor, scratching deeply into the wood.

She held Marcell as tightly as she was able with her wings, and Marcell embraced her back. "Hear this," Marcell called over Teles' shoulder. "This is the woman who saved my life when I was washed off of the _Lorelei_. With her own strength and her own will, she flew us back from the middle of the ocean until she was nearly dead with exhaustion. She is under my protection. Even more than before, she is _my guest_ and should be treated as such."

With that said, Marcell put her arm around Teles' shoulders and ushered her out of the room.


End file.
